CHAPTER XIII
THE HAWKESBURY HANDICAP
THE races at Clarendon caused quite a flutter of excitement in the adjacent town of Windsor. As many as three men and a dog might be seen all at one time in its main street, for some of the visitors stop over-night in the town.
Old Sam and the two young men were of this number, and as after the day’s sport was over time hung heavily on their hands, it was natural they should sally out in quest of amusement—Alec and Huey to see old chums and gather a harvest of outspoken admiration for their talent and pluck, and Old Sam to cruise about in what appeared an aimless manner from hotel to store, to shoeing forge, and to wherever men congregated and he could hear and listen.
Some words casually spoken by a blacksmith appeared to interest him, for he sought out a bill referred to on a neighbouring hoarding, and having read it carefully, at once crossed over to a livery stable and ordered a trap to drive him to Dr. Glenlivet’s place. They were not long going to the house, which had auctioneer’s bills on the outside walls, and Old Sam briskly entered, and found many others at various parts of the house and grounds inspecting the place.
The caretaker inquired if there was anything in particular he wished to see, but the old gentleman shook his head.
“Just come to have a look round.”
A look round he did, from top to bottom of the house, as though he had thought of buying the lot, and it was only in a casual way that he strolled out to the stable and glanced at a mare in the stall.
“A rare fine horse that,” said the coachman.
“A vicious-looking brute?” replied Soft Sam; but a careful observer might have noted a look of satisfaction in his eyes as he returned to his trap, and to town.
That night when he met the young men his first words were, “I’ve found it for you at last, lads!”
“Found what?” they exclaimed together.
“The twenty thousand apiece you wanted—or have you changed your mind?”
The young men had not changed their minds, so drawing them into a private room, and carefully closing the door, he said—
“You must buy a mare that is to be sold to-morrow; it’s a Dr. Glenlivet’s horse, and there is a sale at his place. She is a thoroughbred from Hobartville; the doctor bought her for a sulky, like a fool, for she is a vicious brute, if ever I saw one, and smashed up his trap the first time of asking. Anyhow, she will go cheap, I think. She’s got a bad name hereabouts, and you must buy her.”
“But what for?”
“What for? Why, to win the Sydney Cup, or the Melbourne Cup for that matter. I have seen a worse-looking animal do it. She’s got the blood, and the cut of a clinker.”
The two sporting men assented at once, their confidence in Soft Sam’s judgment being unlimited, and it was agreed and understood that the two young men should jointly buy the mare, and have her trained and raced as the old man should direct.
When they met again the next night Alec gleefully told the old gentleman—
“I’ve bought the mare—got her for twenty quid; there was only one bid against me!”
“And what shall we do with her now?” said Huey.
“We?” interposed Alec. “Who said it was our horse? Did I not buy her and pay for her?”
“But you know it was agreed we should go shares!”
“Shares be blowed! What’s the good of half a horse to anybody? I bought her and paid for her. If you want a horse, buy one yourself!”
“You are a liar and a fraud!”
The response from Alec was a quick blow from the shoulder that knocked Huey down. Quickly jumping to his feet again, he rushed at Alec. It was a short smart fight, the old man sitting quietly by smoking and enjoying the mill, and no one at hand to interfere. It was finished by a knock-out blow from Alec that sent Huey dazed and stupid to the ground.
“Very well done!” said the old man. “With a little science you’d do inside the ropes. Now, you’d better shake hands and make it up.”
“I’m willing,” said Alec, holding out his hand with a patronizing smile.
“I’ll see you damned first!” was all Huey said, as he rose slowly to his feet with a look of concentrated hatred in his eyes. “It’s your turn now, but, mark you, mine will come!”
The old man expressed no surprise at the rupture, perhaps he had foreseen it. He would take no side in the quarrel. He knew that the struggle for a woman was at the bottom of the feud, and the dispute about the mare a mere spark that had lit a hidden train of animosity.
He advised Alec what to do with the horse. He was to run him at small meetings, and not to win even then more than he was obliged. To avoid suspicion he was even to run her in the first Cup Meeting itself as a stiff ’un unless the weights were lighter than could be hoped for.
“Get her trained away in the bush where none of the sports will notice her, and if I am not mistaken she will do the trick for you.”
Huey also came to Old Sam for sympathy and advice, and while the old man was not willing to say anything more of Alec than that he was a fool to fall out with an old pal, he was willing enough to help Huey.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, lad. There are more horses than one in this district. Windsor and Richmond are the cradle of the Australian turf, there are more good ones, of the right sort, knocking about here than in any other place in the Colonies. If your mind’s set on having a flutter I’ll spend a day or two looking round and see what I can do for you.”
It was a week later that Huey received a telegram to go to Windsor, and from there to Wilberforce, to meet Soft Sam. He went at once; and was taken straight away to see a black horse grazing in a paddock.
“He’s not as cheap as the other,” said Soft Sam, “and I can’t say I’m quite so sweet on him; but then he’s a horse, and say what you like, a horse carries money better than a filly. He has never been raced. I heard on the quiet that the owner believes he is not sound, and he thinks I am a softy who knows no better. But take my tip, that horse is as sound as a bell.”
So another bargain was made, another horse changed owners, only the matter was kept quiet, not even Alec hearing that Huey had a horse in training.
There was no pretence of outside civility between the two young men now. Bertha heard part of the story from both parties, but with neither would she take sides; only from that time forward she declined to drive out with either of them.
Alec was fast coming to the front in the business he had chosen, and was already talking of being proposed for Tattersall’s; but while his income rose, so did his spending. He had no thought of saving money, bit by bit, to make his pile. It must be done by some great coup, that was his only plan.
Huey also prospered, but his takings were never very great, and of this the larger part was put aside; for, despite the assurance of Soft Sam that the number of mugs was unlimited, Huey felt the time would come when they must run short.
The first time Alec entered the mare he had to name her, and as Bertha she ran almost last in a selling race at Rosehill; not quite last though, for there was a black horse behind her named, a queer name Alec thought, The Vengeance, and entered in a name new to the turf.
For it was Huey’s horse, and he had chosen a friend at Richmond as nominal owner.
And in the months that went by these two horses often met again, and once at Warwick Farm in a Birthday Handicap, in which the field was so moderate or so “stiff” that Bertha’s jockey, in spite of the order that she was only out for an airing, could not keep her back, she pushed to the front and made a dead heat of it with The Vengeance, who was being pulled hard at the post, and nearly got disqualified in consequence.
On the whole, the two young owners were highly satisfied with their investments. They knew from repeated trials that their animals were pounds and pounds better than the cattle they allowed week after week to beat them. At the same time, Sam warned them that there were several others, at the same game as themselves, all entered to get the weight lowered, all waiting for the one event of their lives, when their true form should be publicly shown—and their value as racers gone for ever.
Alec already counted his great coup as good as accomplished; if not this season, then certainly the next. The Sydney Cup should be his, and with it the hand of Bertha Summerhayes.
Huey heard him boast so one day to Soft Sam, and glared at him viciously as he walked away, muttering to himself—
“No, you traitor and bully! The Cup is not yours yet, nor Bertha either! The Vengeance is mine, and at any cost he shall be truly named?”