"You had better have a pound or two on Lucky Boy as a saver, they will
both do their best to win."
"No more," said Job, "I'll stand or fall by the old colours."
The stands were packed, and the people stood on the lawn, and leaned
over the railings in dense masses.
Mentone was cheered as he galloped to the starting post, and the horse
looked a perfect picture. Black Boy moved sluggishly, but Lucky Boy went
past at a great pace, pulling his jockey out of the saddle, eager for
the race.
"Too flash," said Job; "Give me the other fellow, he's steady and sure."
"I daresay you are right," replied Jack.
There was no more time for conversation, as the horses were quickly
despatched on their journey, and the bright green jacket of Escort was
easily distinguishable in front. The horse had a light weight, and a
clever lad rode him. With a clean lead of several lengths, he brought
the field along, his nearest attendants being Hiram, Tramp, and Maximus.
Bunched together in the centre were the favourite, and Kenley's pair
with the remainder of the field, well up.
As they passed the stand, Escort led at a great pace, almost
overstriding himself, and his tiny jockey had no easy task to hold him.
There was some bumping as they swept round the bend and past Oxenham's,
but nothing was seriously interfered with.
Along the track, Escort still led, but the others were gradually drawing
up, and it was easy to see that by the time the sheds were reached, he
would be caught.
Jack watched the black jacket and orange sleeves closely and also the
cherry and white on Lucky Boy, who seemed to be going in splendid form,
and fully bearing out his trial. So far Barry's horse clearly outpaced
Black Boy, and Jack commenced to think he would win. He would have been
almost as pleased to see Barry's colours successful as his own.
Job made no remark. He stood watching the race with a stolid face, and
no one would have thought he was in a fever of excitement. A good race
agitated him far more than a storm at sea.
They were nearing the turn for home, and Mentone was rapidly working his
way round on the outside. The favourite seemed to have no difficulty in
passing the leaders, and as they entered the straight, he was close up
to Tramp, who held the lead.
Lucky Boy shot his bolt soon after they headed for home, and his
collapse was a surprise to Joel Kenley, who fancied he would be sure to
stay it out.
Bricky Smiles was watching the race from the trainer's stand, and when
he saw Lucky Boy was beaten, he was glad his modest investment was on
his favourite.
As they neared the first stand, Mentone looked to have the race well in
hand. He was going easily and his jockey had made no call upon him; he
had no intention of doing so if it could be avoided, for the horse had a
decided objection to being pressed. His instructions were to get to the
front as soon as they entered the straight and make the best of his way
home, no matter whether it was a long run in or otherwise.
"Don't hit him if you can help it," said the trainer, "but, of course,
if it comes to a pinch you must."
Will Sleath saw the favourite forging ahead, and also noticed Lucky Boy
fall back.
"It all depends on me," he thought; "Andy has no chance."
Black Boy was a horse that could gallop at a steady pace almost any
distance, but he lacked that sharp burst of speed which comes in so
handy at the finish. Will Sleath knew his mount well, and had no
hesitation in making the most of him in any part of the race. The rider
of Mentone had been deceived as to the pace they were going, because
Black Boy had been galloping alongside him, and he knew the horse was a
"plodder." When he made his run round the home turn with Mentone, it
took a good deal out of the favourite, more than he knew of. Sleath sent
Black Boy along at his top, and together with Hiram and the Dancer, drew
level with Tramp, who was soon beaten.
Mentone was sailing along comfortably in front, his backers being on
excellent terms with themselves, and already the cheering which heralds
the anticipated victory of a favourite were heard.
"It's all over," said Jack. "We're beaten, Job."
The Captain made no remark, he was too intent upon watching the black
and orange jacket as it came creeping along.
Slowly but surely Black Boy made up his ground, and Hiram stuck close to
him, yet it seemed almost impossible they would get on terms with the
leader.
Will Sleath looked ahead and saw the judge's box very near: if only
Black Boy could put on a spurt he had no doubt what would be the result.
This was unfortunately what Black Boy could not do, for he was already
at his top, and his jockey did not ask him to go faster.
Mentone was tiring, and his rider was aware of it, but he thought the
commanding lead he held would carry him safely through.
It was a case of the favourite stopping and Black Boy plodding on. The
exciting question was would Mentone fall back sufficiently to allow of
Jack's horse getting up.
The crowd commenced to realise what was taking place, and there was a
dead silence.
Jack felt his pulses tingle, and his blood seemed on fire. Being an
accomplished rider, he knew exactly how matters stood, and he hoped
almost against hope that Black Boy would just get up in time.
The black and orange was very near now, not more than a length away, and
Mentone's jockey realising the danger raised his whip. In response the
horse made a feeble effort which was not sustained, and a terrific shout
burst from the crowd as Black Boy got on level terms.
For a second the pair struggled together, then Black Boy outstayed the
favourite, and the black and orange jacket of Sir Lester Dyke was
carried first past the post in a memorable Sydney Cup.