Chapter One.
It was in the flush times on the Diamond Fields; the days afterwards
remembered, in the bad times which came so soon, with so much wondering
regret. In those days every one had made money out of shares and
confidently hoped to make much more. Shares and companies were talked
about morning, noon, and night; and what more delightful topic for
conversation could any one wish to have? for then almost every one held
shares, and those shares, independently of what they were in or where
the ground possessed by the company was situated, went up every hour, so
that, except when a public benefactor did some thing unusually criminal
or eccentric, so giving the Diamond Field public a subject for much
interesting talk, no one discussed and no one wished to discuss anything
else.
For a short time, however, when the mania was at its very height, shares
became a subject of secondary interest, and as the topic of interest the
Kimberley races took its place. With a characteristic unanimity and
zest the public of the four camps began to talk, think, and speculate
about the races. One would only hear scraps of conversation relating to
weight for age, the rules of racing, and the performances of the
imported horses, as one passed the open doors of bars and canteens.
The sporting division scented the carcase from afar, and thought with
glee of the abundance of money there was in the camp and the enthusiasm
for sport which had come over the public. The big event of the races
was the Diggers' Stakes, a handicap, for which the weights were out, and
very little admiration was expressed for the wisdom of the stewards who
had made it. What with those who knew something about racing and had
games of their own to play, and those who knew nothing about it but,
though honest and ignorant, were too self-important to stand aside and
refrain from taking any part in it, they had made the handicapping a
farce. Men said there were only two horses in it which had any chance--
Mr Musters' Our Boy, and Mr Saul Gideon's The Pirate. They were both
of them imported horses, and the former had won a race or two in
England; both were four-year-olds. Besides these there was one other
imported horse, Captain Brereton's Kildare, and a good many colonial
horses. Kildare was said to be lame, and the handicappers had not given
the colonial horses a chance; in fact it was hardly a handicap at all,
as two favourites carried not much more than weight for age. That
evening Mr Saul Gideon had come into the Claimholders' Club in
Kimberley with a glare in his hard black eyes and a twitching of his
claw-like hands that might well have warned any one who knew him that he
was dangerous. Mr Gideon was a sport, not a sportsman--anything but
that--but certainly a sport. In any pastime on which money could be
risked by way of wagering he took an interest. Before the law put down
those institutions he had, with great profit to himself, kept a gambling
saloon. When prize-fights occurred every now and then, just over the
border of the Free State (the P.R. is or was an institution on the
Diamond Fields), he had much to do with getting them up, and sometimes
would have much to do with settling their issue in a peaceable and
humane manner before the men went into the ring. In fact there were few
sporting frauds on the Diamond Fields but Saul Gideon had a finger in
the pie. He probably only just could tell the difference between a
dray-horse and a racer, but he was satisfied he was clever enough to
hold his own and win money at racing, and perhaps with reason, for
success such as he coveted requires rather a knowledge of men than of
horses. The Claimholders' Club was crowded with men who were talking
about the races, and Mr Gideon had not to wait long before they began
to discuss the event in which he was interested, the Diggers' Stakes.
"Take moy tip, boys," said Dr Buckeen, an Irish medical man much given
to racing, who in his time had done a good deal to maintain in South
Africa the character which some Irish sporting men have gained for
themselves at home; "there is only one in it, that's The Pirate; never
mind about Our Boy and the race he won at Sandown. I know all about it,
I was there and saw, and after the race Lord Swellington, who owned the
horses that ran second and third, came up to me and said, `Buck, me
boy'--all thim fellows call me Buck--`Buck, me boy,' me lord said, `be
crimes, that wore the biggest robbery I ever wore in.'"
"But Lord Swellington wouldn't say `be crimes;' he is not an Irishman,"
said one of the doctor's audience.
"'Deed he did, though, to chaff me; the old divil is always chaffing me,
we are like brothers."
"But, doctor, you could not have seen Our Boy win that race at Sandown;
you weren't home that year," said another objector.
"Not home that year?" said the doctor, taken rather aback. "That's all
you know about it. But never mind, what I say is that The Pirate will
win the Diggers' Stakes."
"That's all you know about it, Buckeen," said a tall man with a red nose
and a squint, who looked as if he were gazing at the bottles behind the
bar, though he really was watching Mr Gideon.
"I will take a thousand to five hundred from any one," said Buckeen, who
liked to talk loudly about bets which no one who knew him would think of
taking from him or dream of his ever intending to pay.
"Not from me, Buckeen," said the tall man, whose name was Crotty, as he
continued to squint hideously while he watched Mr Gideon.
Mr Crotty was remembering a little battle at the noble game of poker
which he once engaged in with Mr Gideon. On that occasion he--Crotty--
had been dealt four kings; and as at last they showed their hands after
much money had been staked, Mr Gideon had said, "For the first time in
my life, believe me--though I have played since I was a lad in
California, in '49--four aces." And as he remembered this little
episode in his life and watched Mr Gideon he hoped soon to be even with
him.
"Bedad, I must go and see after me patients. I am just murthered be the
work I have to do in me profession," said Buckeen, and he swaggered out
of the club.
"Well, Mr Crotty," said Gideon when the doctor had gone, "what will you
do about the stakes?"
"Even money against The Pirate," was Mr Crotty's answer.
"It is odds against my horse. Come, I will take two to one," said
Gideon.
Mr Crotty only shook his head and asked Mr Gideon to take a drink with
him, which offer the other excused himself from accepting on the plea
that he had to go and see a man on business. "See you again in a
half-an-hour or so," he said, as he left the club to visit several other
places where betting men congregated.
However, he found there was not much to be done about his horse; betting
men, like politicians, like to know how the cat jumps before they commit
themselves to any great extent; and there was a tendency to wait a bit
before doing much about "the Stakes."
After half-an-hour Mr Gideon returned to the Claimholders' Club,
looking more restless and anxious than ever.
"Will you lay me six to four?" he asked Mr Crotty, who was still there.
"Even money," answered Crotty, who was a man of few words.
For a minute or two Mr Gideon said nothing, then he gulped down his
drink, and clearing his throat, said:
"I hate fiddling about with one bet here and one bet there. Will you
lay me a good big bet at even money?"
"I am not a millionnaire, like you Diamond-Field men," answered Crotty,
"but I will lay you an even thousand against The Pirate."
"I will take that," said Gideon.
Mr Crotty produced his betting-book and wrote down the bet.
"Will you double it?" said Gideon.
"You want to sell me up," said Crotty, "but I will double it," and again
he wrote in his book.
Mr Gideon felt sure that Crotty would go on a little more, but
something told him that he had better wait a bit. "I will see Nat
first," he said to himself; and he left the club, followed by the
inquiring glances of most of the men who were present, for the bet he
had made was a large one and excited a good deal of interest.
When Mr Gideon left the club he got into a Cape cart, and was driven to
an hotel near some stables, on the outskirts of the camp.
An undersized man, with a look of Newmarket about him, which South
Africa had not erased, who was sitting in the bar of the hotel, got up
and went out when Mr Gideon touched him on the shoulder. Mr Gideon
told him what he had done at the club, and the little man received his
news with a long whistle.
"You're so clever, ain't you?" he said, as he eyed Mr Gideon with
unconcealed scorn. "You don't look like a blessed infant with that nose
on you, but blessed if you don't be'ave like one."
"You ought to remember your proper place more," said Mr Gideon, "and
let me tell you something you don't know. See here," and he produced a
telegram, "Our Boy has broken down."
"And don't you think Crotty knew that? Why, I heard it just now,"
answered the little man, "and a lot it matters; Kildare will win these
stakes."
"He is no good; and he is lame."
"Lame? A party as knows what he sees saw him striding along at
Buffelsfontein, where Captain Brereton has him as sound as a bell."
"But my horse can beat Kildare," said Gideon.
"Not weight for age he couldn't, if what I hears is true. Only just now
I got a letter from home about him, from a pal of mine. Fit and well,
he is the best horse that ever came to this country, and fit and well he
is. And your horse don't meet him weight for age, you give him seven
pounds; those precious stewards seem to have forgotten all about him,"
answered Nat.
"What's to be done? What shall I do for all that money? I can't lose
two thou, and it seemed so good. Oh dear! oh dear me!" Gideon almost
sobbed out.
"Well, it ain't lost yet, guv'nor. Kildare might go wrong," said Nat
Lane with an evil grin.
"Oh, what a blessing that would be. Don't you think now, Nat, something
might be done?"
"The Captain looks after the horse night and day, nothing could be done
on the quiet; but Buffels is a very solitary place to keep a valuable
animal like Kildare. Look here, now, suppose you put me on a thou, of
that two thou. I might show you how to save that bet, and make a good
bit more."
After a little haggling Mr Gideon consented to give Nat Lane a thou, if
Kildare was made a dead 'un and The Pirate won.
"It will have to be done with a rush if it is done at all, but there is
a party in camp just now who can do the job if any man can, and I will
go and see him," said Nat. "It's no good your coming, I will drop round
to your place afterwards."
Mr Gideon walked off feeling much out of sorts and out of conceit with
himself. His old acquaintance Crotty had got the best of him and had
known just as much as he did and a little more when he made the bet.
When Mr Gideon left him Nat Lane walked back into the town, or camp, as
it was more often called, though its canvas age was over and it was
gradually changing from iron to brick, and turning up a street by the
side of the mine, which had already, though Kimberley was not ten years
old, acquired a very evil reputation, made his way to a canteen known as
the Red Bar. This establishment, which consisted of a room,
billiard-room and bar combined, seemed to be doing a roaring business.
A perspiring barman was hard at work opening bottles of champagne,
spirits, and soda-water, while two very smartly-dressed young women were
busy serving the crowd of customers who thronged round the bar, and at
the same time carrying on a conversation with a favoured few. The
majority of the company had an unmistakable Jewish type of face, but
there were men of every other white race there. Few if any towns three
times the size of Kimberley could produce such a choice selection of
scoundrels as the guests at the `Red Bar,' and Jews and Gentiles alike
bore on their faces a hunted, a bird-of-prey look which denoted that
they were at enmity with the honest portion of society. The most
conspicuous figure in the place was that of a tall dark man, whose face
might have been called a handsome one were it not for his sinister
expression, exaggerated by a scar which reached from his mouth to his
eye, and seemed to stand out all the more as the drink which he was
taking flushed his face. From the way in which he lounged against the
bar, taking up more room than three or four men might have done, though
there were many men trying to get up to it to be served, and from the
silence which was kept when he was speaking and the laughter and
applause with which his not over-brilliant remarks were received, it was
clear that he was a man who had managed to gain the respect of his
associates.
"Bill, I want to speak to you; I can put you on to a good job," Nat Lane
whispered into his ear.
"Right; if there are good pieces in it, for I want some. They cleared
me out at faro properly last night," he answered as he left the bar and
went out with Nat Lane. "Now, then, what do you want?" he said when
they were outside.
"It's like this: I can put you on to a good game, for I suppose you're
on the same lay up yonder you were always on, and have one or two
working with you?"
"Yes, fire away and speak clear," said Bill.
"Well, Brereton has got two or three horses at Buffelsfontein, which
would be well worth getting hold of; one of them is worth a thousand
pounds almost."
"That's no good game--too risky, and I couldn't get much for the
Captain's horse. People who buy racers want to know more about them
than I tell when I sell a horse."
"That could be managed all right, Bill," said Nat. "If you only got the
horse away there would be a good bit of money to come to you. And I
take it you would sooner take a good horse than a bad one any day;
besides there are the Captain's two horses. I think I know how the job
could be done."
Then the two men had a long conversation, and it was arranged between
them that Nat Lane's acquaintance, whose name was Bill Bledshaw, and
whose place of residence was a kraal over the border in Bechuanaland
near Tawns, where he carried on the fine old-fashioned calling of a
cattle-lifter and horse-stealer, should find out when Brereton was going
to take Kildare and his other horses into Kimberley, and with a party of
his comrades surprise Brereton, seize the horses, and carry them over
the border.
Buffels Drift was not very far from the border, and there was a place
which Bill knew of where he could surprise Brereton and get the horses.
As soon as he had got away with Kildare he was to send a messenger back
to Kimberley, who would let Nat Lane know that the plot had been
successful, and give the confederates an opportunity of betting against
the horse, which would be far away when the Diggers' Stakes was run.
Bill Bledshaw stood out for a good share of the spoil, for it was a very
risky job, which would create much indignation against him on the
Diamond Fields and perhaps lead to his arrest; but Nat Lane managed to
dispel his scruples, and before they parted the two worthies had a drink
together to the success of their venture, Bill Bledshaw promising to
start the next morning for his head-quarters near Tawns, where he could
complete his arrangements and see one `Long Alex,' who would work the
job with him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Two.
"By Jove, no horse in this forsaken country ever galloped like that
before," said Jack Brereton, as he stood outside his house at
Buffelsfontein and watched Kildare leave his other horse, The Muffin
Man, as if the latter was standing still.
Those horses and his pony Nobbier represented pretty nearly all Jack
Brereton's possessions, except the money he had already invested on
Kildare's chance for the Diggers' Stakes.
After having speculated in claims, diamonds, ostriches, and sheep, he
had taken to the more congenial pursuit of putting his capital into
thoroughbreds, and so far he had not done very badly in that somewhat
risky investment.
About eighteen months before, he had bought The Muffin Man, a
colonial-bred racer, with some money he had made in a lucky digging
venture. As he rode and trained his horse himself he was not robbed as
other owners were, and had won several races at Kimberley, Cradock, and
Port Elizabeth. He had bought Kildare with the money made by the other,
having commissioned an old brother officer in England to buy a useful
racer that was better than anything in South Africa. Kildare was an
Irish-bred horse, and had been sold rather cheaply after his former
owner had been warned off the turf for having him pulled in a
two-year-old race. It was a shame, so Jack's friend said, to send such
a good horse to South Africa, but he felt bound to do his best for Jack.
Jack Brereton was about thirty-five, and though he was as active as he
ever was, and seemed to take life cheerily as he always did, his years
had told on him more than men would at first think.
The last ten years of his life had been spent in the colonies, the five
years before that at home in a light cavalry regiment, and very marked
was the contrast between them, though the Jack Brereton of the latter
days and the former was outwardly much the same man, a little harder
perhaps and more able to take care of himself, but the same
light-hearted, happy-go-lucky fellow. The colonies are full of men
whose lives have gone all askew--misfits well made enough, one would
have thought, but all wrong when they are tried on. Jack Brereton
seemed to be fit for something better than the adventurer and gambler he
had drifted into becoming. There was the making of a good soldier in
him, only he had gone to grief somehow and had to sell out.
He was a good deal more shrewd in his knowledge of character and
business than many a man who had succeeded on the Diamond Fields by
sticking to his work instead of drifting from one thing to another as he
had done. He was well liked and to a certain extent admired by almost
every one, from the administrator of the province downwards, but he
never got any appointment, though there were several billets he might
very well have filled. Sometimes he had been very much down on his
luck, sometimes he had experienced a run of good fortune, but he kept
his bad or ill-luck to himself and was always in excellent spirits.
Every one said he was a good fellow, and many half envied his light
heart and good spirits. Of late he had lived a good deal out of
Kimberley, looking after his horses, and the visits he paid to camp
every now and then were the occasion of much revelry; very late hours
being kept at the club, where men would sit up listening to his stories
and bantering chaff till long past the usual hour for closing that
establishment; but for all that men who knew him best thought they often
saw a sad, wistful look in his eyes, and that in his laugh there was an
after-sound of bitterness and melancholy. For all his cheeriness he was
beginning to get very tired of the life he was leading, and to long to
get home again, or to some new country where he could have a fresh
start.
As he watched Kildare gallop he was full of hope and excitement, and he
felt certain that he would win the Diggers' Stakes with him.
"Yes, Captain, fit and well, the other horses won't be very near him.
But I wish the race were over and won; they seem to be doing a lot of
betting on it at the Fields, laying two to one on Kildare, but there are
lots of takers. The Pirate's lot have backed their horse for a lot of
money, and won't lose it if they can help," said a rough-looking man
with a broken nose and scarred face, who was standing by the side of
Jack Brereton.
"They will have to lose it whether they like it or not. It's a pity you
can't come back to Kimberley with us, I know you would like to see the
little horse win."
"Yes, Captain, I'd like it dearly, but I shouldn't be let see the race
if I did come back; the man I hammered is so blamed vindictive that he
would have me stuck in quod before I was in camp an hour. You see, his
being a policeman makes it awkward. No, when you start I will just foot
it in the other direction--Christiana way--wishing you good luck in the
race."
"There is twenty pound on for you, Tom, if he wins, remember," said
Brereton, as he followed the horses back to their stables.
Tom Bats was a not very excellent character who had once been in Jack
Brereton's regiment, and for a short time was his soldier-servant. He
was not a bad-natured man, but unsteady, hot-tempered, and pugnacious.
Jack Brereton had liked him very well, and he had from the first a
wonderful affection and admiration for `the Captain.' Strangely enough,
both of them drifted to the Diamond Fields, where they met again, and
very rejoiced was Tom Bats to see his old master. On the Diamond Fields
Tom did not become a reformed character; he was straight, as the saying
there was, and did not buy diamonds or do anything that was dishonest,
but was much given to going on the spree and punching heads, and had on
several occasions given the police a great deal of trouble.
Unfortunately, when on the spree he had fallen foul of a policeman
against whom he had an old grudge, and had knocked the guardian of the
peace about severely, thus making Kimberley too warm for him, and
obliging him to start off at once for some place of refuge.
He had turned up at Buffelsfontein, where Jack Brereton gave him shelter
and food for some days, and employed him looking after the horses, for
Jack was not quite certain that though Buffelsfontein was a quiet place
some forty miles from Kimberley, it would not be worth some one's while
to pay it a visit and try and get at Kildare.
"Look 'ere, captain," said Tom after Jack had left the tables, "I think
I had better come back with you to-morrow, it's rather a lonely journey
for you to take with such valuable property as the horses, and no one
but the Kaffir boys with you. I will see you as far as the camp and
then turn back again."
"No, you shan't do that; what's the good? It's lonely, but it's as safe
a road as any high-road in England; no one will harm the horse when I am
by looking after him."
Tom Bats felt that this was about true, so he settled to leave for
Christiana the next morning, when Jack and the horses started for
Kimberley.
The next morning Jack started for Kimberley riding his pony Nobbier,
Kildare and The Muffin Man being ridden by two little bushmen who were
in his service. It was a dreary journey from Buffels Drift to
Kimberley, only one or two farm-houses were on the way, and a great part
of the road was deep sand through which the horses laboured painfully.
Jack had arranged for the horses to be put up at a farm-house on the
way, so he took the journey easily enough; and as he rode along a little
behind the others, he looked at Kildare and added up the money which he
felt confident that he could win with the brave little horse. Kildare
was a black horse--not very big. At first sight one would think that he
was not quite big enough to hold his own, but any good judge would
recognise that he was good enough if he were big enough; and when one
saw him stride along one forgot about his being on a small scale.
The Diggers' Stakes would come to about five hundred pounds; besides
that Jack had about a thousand pounds in bets for that race, for he
stood half of the bet Crotty had laid Gideon. It was hard luck not
being able to get odds about the horse, but as several people in
Kimberley knew how good the horse was, and that the theory of his being
lame which, somehow or the other, had got about was false, it was
necessary to get this money on the race at the best terms they could.
Though Kildare had been actually backed for very little by either
Brereton or Crotty, for the latter had only bet against The Pirate, he
was the favourite, with slight odds laid on him, and it would not be
easy to back him to win much at any reasonable price. Still, there
would be his lottery, which would come to some five hundred pounds or so
more, and perhaps it would be possible to get a little more money on,
but it was a pity that he could not make more of a _coup_. There was
another race on the card which he hoped to win with Kildare, and he
might win one or two minor races with The Muffin Man. Altogether Jack
hoped, with what he could win and with the price he could get for his
horses, which he intended to sell, he would be worth about five thousand
pounds after the races. As he watched Kildare stepping along he thought
that he would like to take him home to England and win a big handicap
with him, as he believed he could; but his good sense told him that it
would be better to sell the horse on the Fields. With the money that he
would have after the races he determined he would clear out of the
country, and either go home, where he might get something, or to some
other colony. It is ill counting your chickens before they are hatched.
As Jack was thinking what he would do with the money he would win he
had come to a place where the road ran between some mountains, and where
by the side of the road there was a good deal of thick bush. Just there
some Kaffirs who were coming from the direction of Kimberley were
passing the horses; they looked as if they had been working in the mines
and were going back to the kraals up country, and Jack paid very little
attention to them. Suddenly he was startled by seeing them close round
the two horses, Muffin Man and Kildare, and take hold of their bridles.
In a second he had whipped out a revolver and was riding up to them,
when a man with crape on his face jumped from the bushes by the road and
struck him a heavy blow on the head with a knobkerri, which stretched
him on the ground senseless.
When he came to again he found two white men with crape round their
faces engaged in tying him up with a rope, which they knotted in a way
that would puzzle the Davenport brothers. When they had finished they
carried him away from the road along a water-course which came down from
the hills. He did his best to struggle, but it was no use for he was
helpless. As he was carried along he saw that the two horses and his
pony were in the possession of the enemy, and the two bushmen were also
captive and were being carried off by some of the Kaffirs.
"Now, then, take it easy and keep quiet, or the rope will choke you,"
said one of the men as he secured Jack to the tree with an elaborate and
improved Tom Fool's knot. "Well, you might as well have a smoke, there
is nothing like making the best of things," he added, as he pushed a
cigar into Jack's mouth and struck a light. There was some sense in
this, so Jack pulled at the cigar.
"So long, boss," said the man who had spoken before, and after gazing at
his workmanship with some pride he walked away with the other. Jack
could hear them laugh as they crashed through the bushes, and he thought
he heard one say:
"What about Kildare for the Stakes?" Then voices were farther and
farther off, and he was left alone to himself. Of course he began to
try and get out of the knots, but there was no doubt about it that the
man who tied him up was a master of his craft, and the rope round his
neck tightened when he tried to struggle against the knots. Then he
began to shout out, but that was no use; there was probably no one near,
and the echo of his voice seemed to mock him. Then he kept quiet and
tried to enjoy smoking. He might possibly burn the rope with the
lighted end of his cigar, he thought; trying to do this gave him
occupation for some little time, but he did not succeed, though he could
just touch the rope with the end of his cigar, and at last the cigar
burnt shorter, and he was unable to touch the rope with it, and then he
began to cough and it fell out of his mouth. Then he began to think of
the wretched plight he was in. The remark he thought he heard made him
believe that the object of stealing the horse was to prevent his winning
the Stakes; but for all that they would have to pay unless they could
prove collusion between the men who had made the bets and the
horse-thieves, and that would not be very easy.
Hour after hour passed, and he began to think that if he were only free
he would not mind about anything else, though if he lost all his bets,
and lost his horses, he would be without a penny in the world--in fact,
he would be hardly able to pay his losses. Then he remembered that it
was the day the mail-cart passed along that road, and he calculated the
time at which it would pass. It was about nine o'clock in the morning
when he had been tied, and at about sunset the cart would pass, judging
by the time at which it generally left Buffels Drift. He could not see
the road from where he was, and the sand would prevent him hearing the
cart as it came along; but as the sun went down and the time for the
cart came near, he kept up a shouting, his voice growing hoarser and
weaker, as he was afraid, every minute. At last the welcome sound came
of some one coming through the bushes, and he heard in Dutch an
exclamation of astonishment. It was the driver of the mail-cart who had
heard shouting, and fortunately, as there was a passenger in the cart
who could hold the rein, had got out to see what was the matter. The
man was provokingly slow, staring at him stupidly for a little time and
expressing his surprise again and again, but at last he cut the ropes
and helped Jack, who was unable to walk, his limbs being all cramped, to
get to the cart.
About four hours after they had parted at Buffelsfontein, Tom Bats was
taking a spell, having done about ten miles of his journey to
Christiana. His thoughts were with Captain Brereton and Kildare, and he
kept regretting that he was not with them and that he should not be on
the racecourse to see the horse win the Diggers' Plate. Though he knew
that Brereton was very well able to look after himself and his horses,
and that when he came into the camp he would have the advantage of sage
advice from Mr Crotty, who was as sharp as most men, he felt somewhat
mistrustful. The lot who were backing The Pirate would not stick at a
trifle. He knew something of Mr Gideon. Once when he had been matched
to fight a man for fifty pounds a side, that worthy had tried to drug
him when he found he would not be squared, and he would be up to the
same sort of game with the little horse, he was afraid.
Well, he had better be getting on, he thought, as he knocked the ashes
out of his pipe, and filled it up again. Just then he saw some men
riding towards him, along a road which some miles south cut into the
road from Buffelsfontein to Kimberley. They seemed to be some white men
and some Kaffirs, all on horseback. As they came nearer Tom gave a
start, nearly jumped up, but in a second crouched down amongst the
bushes.
He recognised two of the men, Bill Bledshaw and Long Alex; but that was
not what alarmed him. What startled him was that he saw that Bill
Bledshaw was riding The Muffin Man, while one of the Kaffirs was on
Kildare, and another on Captain Brereton's pony Nobbier. It did not
take him long to understand what had taken place. Captain Brereton had
been robbed, they had got the horses from him and were taking them away
to Tawns, where Bledshaw's head-quarters were. Tom felt very concerned
about Brereton's fate, for though he did not suppose that Bill would
harm him more than he could help, he knew that Brereton would not let
the horses go without a fight unless he were taken by surprise; but even
if he were fit and well he would be in a sorry plight, Tom Bats thought,
if he did not get back Kildare. "This is Master Gideon's little game,"
he said to himself, and he thought it would be worth a trip to
Kimberley, dangerous though it would be, to have the pleasure of
smashing that gentleman's evil-looking face in. There were two white
men and four or five Kaffirs, so it was useless to show himself and
fight for the horses. Long Alex and Bill were both very awkward
customers, and were sure to be well armed. About six miles off there
was a place called Gordon, where there usually were one or two of the
mounted police, but before he could get there and give information to
the police, Bill would have the horses over the border; and Tom Bats was
by no means eager to come across any of the mounted police, for they
would most likely recognise him and know about the warrant there was
against him.
Near where Tom Bats was resting there was a pool of water, and when the
horsemen came up to the place they off-saddled, the two white men
throwing themselves down on the ground under a tree for a rest.
Tom Bats' heart began to beat, for he saw his chance when one of the
Kaffirs took Kildare and another horse down to the water. He had a
heavy iron-bound knobkerri, and clutching it with a grip that meant
business he sneaked from the bush he was hiding behind to the water,
without the Kaffir seeing him. Then when he had got close to the water
he sprang up, and was on his man with a rush, dealing him one heavy blow
with his stick. In a second he had jumped Kildare's back and was riding
as hard as he could in the direction of Gordon. The other Kaffirs had
seen him, and as he rode he could hear them shouting out and waking up
the white men, and turning round he saw that Long Alex had snatched up a
carbine and was pointing it at him, while Bill was mounting The Muffin
Man, to give him chase. Long Alex's bullet whirled unpleasantly near
him, but the ground, which sloped down a little, gave him a little
cover. There was no saddle on Kildare, though his bridle was on, and
Tom Bats, though he had been a trooper in a cavalry regiment, was by no
means a finished horseman; still he was able to stick on. Long Alex had
run up to the brow of the hill and there he took another shot, it was a
long shot, but this time it hit, and Kildare stumbled as Tom let the
rein fall loose over his head, as his shattered left arm fell helpless
to his side. He was not hit so badly that he could not keep on. Bill
on The Muffin Man was sticking to the chase, and he waved his hat and
gave a yell when he saw Long Alex's shot had taken effect. Tom Bats
felt himself growing weaker every second, and for once in his life he
longed to see the cord uniform of a mounted policeman as he rode on,
longing to get to Gordon and safety--for the horse, that is to say; as
for himself it was by no means a desirable haven.
"Hullo, that's a nice-looking horse; this looks a queer start, too,"
said Sergeant Brown of the mounted police, who was lounging in the
verandah of the one store at Gordon--the rising township of the future,
which consisted at present of a farm-house, a store, and some tents
belonging to the police, but which had a Market square, a Main street, a
Church street, and several other streets, only the houses had not yet
been put up--as Tom Bats rode up on Kildare.
"Now, then, hold up, man!" he cried out, as Tom fell off the horse's
back in a swoon when he tried to get off. "By George, though, I think
we want this gentleman; there is a warrant out for Bats, isn't there,
Jim?" he said to a police trooper, who was standing by, after he had
picked up Tom and brought him into the store.
"Yer right, sergeant, I am the man and there is a warrant; but never
mind me, look after the horse--Captain Brereton's Kildare, favourite for
Diggers' Stakes; they got Bill Bledshaw to jump him, and I have jumped
him from Bill. Look after the little horse; he has been knocked about
fearfully to-day," said Tom, getting fainter and queerer as he spoke.
The sergeant gave some orders about the horse, then looked after Tom
Bats, whom he saw to be a good deal hurt, and when he was revived a
little asked him more about the whereabouts of Bill Bledshaw.
It happened that the sergeant took a good deal of interest in the
Kimberley races, and he at once shared Tom Bats' suspicion that Bill was
acting for some one else; so thinking it would be a capital thing if
those who plotted to get Kildare out of the way were caught in their own
trap, he said nothing about Kildare having turned up in the letter he
wrote to the authorities, while he wrote another letter, to be opened by
either Brereton or Crotty, saying the horse was safe and did not seem
much the worse. After he had sent off these letters by a Kaffir on a
horse he started off with two policemen--all the force he had--to see if
he could come across Bill Bledshaw.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Three.
"It's all right, now go and back The Pirate for what you can get," said
Nat Lane, as he came into Mr Gideon's house, where that gentleman had
been waiting for some hours on the day of Jack Brereton's misadventure
in a fever of excitement.
"Are you sure he has done it all right?" asked Gideon.
"Certain; I have got this," and Nat showed the other a piece of paper on
which the words "Done the job all right" were written. "That's what we
settled that he was to write; a boy just brought it me. Now you go and
look for clever Mr Crotty; we ought to have him for a good bit."
Mr Gideon at once started off to make prompt use of his information.
First he went to two men who usually worked with him, and were in this
robbery to a certain extent, and commissioned them to back The Pirate
and lay against Kildare; then he tried to find Crotty, whom he intended
to make his chief victim. They had made Kildare a very hot favourite.
In fact, with the exception of The Pirate there was no other horse
backed. It happened that Mr Crotty had gone to the river that day, so
Mr Gideon was destined to be disappointed of his prey, and waited up
hour after hour at the club without meeting him, for Mr Crotty on his
return had supper at the house of the men he had gone to the river with,
and then had gone straight to bed. After he had been in bed some hours
he was roused by a knock at the door of his own house, and opening it
let in Jack Brereton.
"They have done us," said Jack, as he helped himself to a brandy and
soda, the materials for which were on the table.
"What do you mean? they have not got at Kildare?"
"Got at him? They have got him," said Jack, and he told his story.
Very furious did Mr Crotty become as he listened to it; he at once came
to the conclusion that Mr Gideon had something to do with it. However,
he saw that it would be very difficult to prove any knowledge, and saw
that he would have to pay the bets he would lose. They talked for some
hours, but were not able to comfort each other or devise any scheme for
getting the horse back. Mr Crotty took his loss very well, and did
not, as many a man in his place would have done, blame Jack at all for
it. He was a somewhat sharp customer, was Mr Crotty, by no means
scrupulous when he was dealing with outsiders, but he was straight to
his friends, and he really felt as sorry for Jack as for himself, though
perhaps his first feeling was bitter anger against Gideon.
"Well, it is no good stopping up all night talking," he said at last,
and he got a mattress and some blankets for Jack.
In the morning Jack was woke up by hearing a cry of triumph from Crotty.
The letter from Gordon had come and Crotty had read it. "We have got
'em," he cried as he gave the letter to Jack. They were both delighted;
the only question was whether the horse would be much the worse for its
knocking about. They came to the conclusion that they would chance
that, as the note said the horse was all right, and they believed he
could win on three legs. "Then leave me to deal with Mr Gideon,"
Crotty said as he dressed; "I will take care to come across him this
morning."
That morning it was all over the camp that Bill Bledshaw had jumped
Kildare, and great was the consternation amongst the backers of the
favourite, and the rejoicing of a section of the Jews who had backed The
Pirate. Mr Gideon was afraid that it would be too late to victimise
Mr Crotty, though for a minute or two as the latter came into the club,
looking by no means out of spirits, he felt a little hopeful.
"Well, how's The Pirate?" he said to Gideon.
"Fit as he could be. Will you go on laying against him?" answered
Gideon.
"Now why are you so keen about backing The Pirate this morning? Not
because you have heard about Bill Bledshaw jumping Kildare?" said Crotty
with a grin on his face; "but I think we shall sell you by getting him
back from Bill."
Mr Gideon could not help laughing to himself, the idea of Bill's being
persuaded to give up the horse or allowing it to leave him fit to run
for the Stakes seemed too absurd.
Then the two had a long conversation, which ended in Mr Gideon laying
the other three thousand to one thousand against Kildare, and
stipulating that the money should be staked by that day, as he thought
that he would win about as much from Gideon and his confederates as that
division would think it worth while to pay.
There was a lot of excitement all over the camp when it was known how
Jack Brereton had been robbed. Jack had nothing to say but that the
story was true; he took his bad luck as he had taken bad luck before,
wonderfully coolly, but to his friends--and most `white men' in the camp
were his friends--he imparted the advice not to be in a hurry to bet
against Kildare. "The little horse will win for all that you have
heard," he said.
As a rule his friends thought that Jack did not speak without reason,
and a good many of them took the odds which the Jews were eager to lay
on their horse The Pirate. This state of things went on for some days,
all sorts of stories going about as to the chances of the missing horse
being recovered.
Mr Gideon laughed when he heard these stories. It amused him to think
that people could be fools enough to believe that a horse could be got
out of Bill Bledshaw's clutches, and be fit to run in a few days.
One morning, a day or two before the races, most of the sporting element
of the Diamond Fields were on the racecourse, watching the horses
engaged in the races do their morning gallops.
Gideon and Nat Lane were standing a little way from the rest of the
company, and had been having a very confidential talk.
"Altogether I stand about ten thousand to five thousand. Some of it I
have laid on The Pirate, some against Kildare; Barney and Ike Sloeman
have done half as much again between 'em! Where the money comes from I
don't know. S'help me, I can't see what they are at--all backing a
horse that Bill Bledshaw has jumped," said Gideon.
"It's just as well for us that there are some fools," answered the
trainer.
"Do you think any other horse has a chance of beating The Pirate? I
heard something about May Morn."
"Never mind what you hear; that's May Morn; looks like having a big
chance, don't it?" said Nat, pointing to a horse that was coming round.
"Hullo! why that's Captain Brereton and be damned to him. What is that
he is on? something that can gallop a bit," he added, as he saw another
horse that had just come on to the course. "Is that one of yours, Mr
Crotty?" he called out to that gentleman who was standing some yards
off.
Kildare had been brought into the camp the night before, and Jack was
giving him his first gallop on the racecourse.
Crotty and Jack had determined that they would not try to keep the
secret of the horse's recovery any longer, as it would be difficult to
do so; and they had already backed it for as much as Gideon's friends
could pay. Even a tyro like Mr Gideon could see that the game little
horse was of a very different class from the plater May Morn.
"That, Mr Gideon! why that is Captain Brereton's Kildare; you ought to
know the horse. And now what price Kildare? what price Bill Bledshaw?"
shouted Mr Crotty, and he burst into a peal of mocking laughter, in
which a knot of men, his and Jack Brereton's friends, who were standing
near him joined.
"The little horse is not much the worse for your kind attentions," he
added.
"Curse 'em, but they have done us," said Nat Lane between his teeth.
Mr Gideon turned pale. The mocking laughter of Crotty and his friends
maddened him. He was almost ruined, for the money he had staked
represented pretty nearly all that he had in the world; his only hope
was that still The Pirate might somehow win, and this hope was a very
feeble one.
Shout after shout of laughter came from the men on the course, who
seemed all to have been let into the secret by Crotty, and followed by
the jeers of their enemies Mr Gideon and Nat Lane got into a cart and
were driven back to Kimberley.
Mr Gideon and Nat Lane had several very anxious conversations before
the day of the race, but their upshot was nothing but talk. It was
impossible for them to hedge, and they could only trust in the chapter
of accidents, which, however, did them no good.
The story of the Diggers' Stakes that year was a very simple one. It
was rather a procession than a race. Kildare won with the greatest ease
from The Pirate, while the rest of the field were beaten off. Good
fellows on the Diamond Fields rejoiced, and for the most part had very
substantial reasons for their joy.
Mr Gideon and his friends "the sharp division," as they thought
themselves, for once were shorn, and they look back to that race with
anything but pleasure. Mr Gideon paid all his losses, for he was
afraid that if he did not an attempt might be made to prove he had
something to do with stealing Kildare, and was anxious for some time
lest Bill Bledshaw, who was afterwards caught before he got rid of
Brereton's other horses, should give evidence against him. It remains
only to say that Tom Bats had the pleasure of seeing Kildare win. His
arm was well enough to allow him to be brought into Kimberley, and
public feeling was so much in his favour, as the man who had rescued
Kildare from the enemy, that the magistrate took a lenient view of the
charge of assault on which he was brought up, and only inflicted a fine,
which in a few minutes was raised for him by subscriptions of those who
had backed Brereton's game little horse.
Story 11.