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.