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.