CHAPTER XXVIII
A TERRIBLE SAVAGE
It was over. Barellan had won, and Glen Leigh was the fortunate holder of his number in the sweep. He had come into a fortune at one stroke. He elbowed his way through the crowd hardly knowing what he was doing, and went in search of his friends. It was not easy to find them in the great crowd streaming towards Tattersalls and the paddock. As he pushed through the ring he saw people gathering round bookmakers. Barellan must have been well backed; hundreds were drawing money. He saw nothing of Bill and Jim. He would go into the paddock. They might be there, thinking he had gone to look at the winner.
Nicholl had weighed in and was standing talking to the trainer as Glen appeared on the scene. They greeted him heartily, shaking his hand, congratulating him on his good fortune.
"There's five hundred each for you," said Glen.
They thanked him; it was a generous gift.
"I never felt so queer in my life as I did when Barellan fell back just after rounding the bend," declared Glen. "What happened?"
"I thought he was going to crack up," answered the jockey. "It must have been his foot. I fancy he wanted to ease it as he came round the bend; it probably pinched him."
"That's it," said Hadwin. "There's no doubt about it. What a run he made up the straight. I never saw anything like it."
While they were talking Bellshaw came up, scowling. He did not look like the owner of the Cup winner.
"You see I was right," said Hadwin. "He won a great race."
"Which Nicholl nearly threw away," retorted Bellshaw.
"You're mistaken," said the jockey. "If Barellan hadn't been one of the gamest horses that ever looked through a bridle he would never have got up and won."
"You ran him out wide at the bend when you had a good position on the rails," said Bellshaw.
Nicholl explained, but the squatter was in no mood to listen to reason. He had won the Melbourne Cup, but Glen Leigh had won first prize in the sweep, and this made him rage. By all the rights of ownership he ought at least to have five thousand laid him if his horse won. When he thought how Leigh threatened him with exposure, he could have killed him without compunction. There was no more dissatisfied man on the course than the owner of the Cup winner. He had no pleasure in the victory. The cheering he knew was not for him but for the horse and jockey.
Glen Leigh walked away to avoid him. He saw the man was in no mood to be crossed and was almost beside himself with ill-feeling and disappointment. It was not, however, Bellshaw's intention that Glen should escape him. He wished to quarrel with somebody, and Leigh scented his purpose. He walked after him and said, loud enough for those standing near to hear, "You've won the sweep money by the aid of my horse. Are you man enough to give me something out of it?"
Glen guessed by the way he spoke he meant mischief. There was menace in his voice. He stopped, faced him, and answered, "I'm man enough to refuse to give you a penny out of it."
Bellshaw swore, then stepping up to him said savagely, "I suppose you'll try and get Rosa Prevost – buy her with the money you've won? You'll not succeed. I'll outbid you. She's fond of money, besides she's been my woman for several years. Perhaps you don't know that. I never intended marrying her. She knew it, and was quite contented with my terms. She will be so again. You stand no chance. I can easily convince her she will be better off with me."
His insulting words made Glen Leigh's blood boil.
"Be careful what you say or it will be the worse for you," he said.
Bellshaw laughed.
"Can't you find another woman? Are you tied down to marry my mistress?"
By way of reply Glen Leigh raised his right arm, clenched his fist, struck Bellshaw full in the mouth and knocked him down.
Ivor Hadwin, Bill Bigs and Jim Benny saw what happened; they hurried through the crowd and gathered round them. "Get out of this, Glen," said Bill, "or there'll be ructions."
Hadwin pulled Bellshaw away as he struggled to his feet.
"You can't fight here. They'll hustle you on the course if you do. A nice thing to happen to the owner of the Cup winner."
Bill caught Glen by the arm, dragging him along. Bellshaw seemed in no hurry to return the blow. He let the trainer lead him away. His mouth was bleeding, his lip cut. The blow was severe; Glen had hard hitting powers.
Bellshaw turned his attention to his trainer, calling him names, abusing him generally, then suddenly turned sullen and walked away. Soon after he left the course and went to his hotel.
He sat down and wrote a letter to Nick Gerard saying he would accept his wager of two thousand pounds to find a horse Glen Leigh could not ride for a quarter of an hour. The match must take place in Sydney the following week, the Saturday night, and there must be no other acceptors of the offer. He returned to Sydney by the mail train that night, and on arriving there journeyed to Mintaro.
Glen Leigh received his cheque for the sweep money by the end of the week. It amounted to twenty-four thousand, six hundred pounds. He knew now what it was to possess money. He paid Luke Nicholl and Ivor Hadwin five hundred each, and gave handsome gifts to Bill and Jim and to Jerry Makeshift.
Nick Gerard showed Glen Bellshaw's letter, accepting his challenge, and asked him what he thought about it.
"I'll ride anything he cares to put into the ring," replied Glen. "He's got some horses at Mintaro that are terrible savages, almost mad, but I'll try and win your money, Nick. I'd like to beat him."
"Very well, then I'll accept his offer and withdraw the notice. He'll find you enough to do, I expect," said Nick smiling.
"He will, you can depend upon that. He's pretty certain he can find something that will throw me, or he'd not have accepted," answered Glen.
"And will Saturday next week suit you?"
"Yes, the show goes back to Sydney on Monday."
"Capital; there'll be an exciting struggle. I suppose there's no doubt Bellshaw will play fair?"
"I don't see how he can help it. He'll pick out a nasty brute for me to ride, but that's part of the game," said Glen.
On all sides Glen was congratulated on winning first prize in the sweep. He was inundated with letters from all sorts of people, anxious to negotiate loans for the most part, others who wished to recommend safe investments. Land agents offered him ideal residences, owners of horses placed prices on their animals for him; charities solicited him, women wrote saying they were quite willing to consider him as a husband if he wanted a wife.
Glen laughed at them all. He placed his money in the bank and went on his way contented.
When Bellshaw arrived at Mintaro unexpectedly he explained what he wanted – the worst horse that could be found, a savage, quite ready to kill and tear a man to pieces.
His new overseer, Sam Wimpole, he had appointed when Garry Backham left; he was a man of his master's stamp, cruel, unscrupulous. Already the hands hated him; more than one had threatened to do for him.
Bellshaw explained what he wanted, then added, "If you can find me a horse that will throw him I'll give you a hundred pounds. I want to win the wager. I want to see him injured for life, or better still, killed outright. Do you understand?"
Wimpole grinned. He understood. He knew the sort of horse. There was one at Five Rocks, ten times worse than The Savage. It would be risky catching him and taking him to Sydney, but once there he'd bet any money Leigh couldn't sit on him five minutes. It was more than likely the brute would kill him. It was a big powerful brown stallion, as big as old Tear'em, and worse tempered. He should say he was seven or eight years old and had never been handled.
"The beast chased me five or six miles," he said. "If he'd caught me I shouldn't be here to tell you about him."
This news put Bellshaw in a better humour. The idea of maiming Glen Leigh was just to his mind. He ordered Wimpole to yard the horse no matter at what danger, or risk, and to take him to Bourke and from there to Sydney.
Next day Wimpole, taking the bulk of the hands with him, managed, after much trouble, to yard the horse, among others, lasso him, and throw him down, keeping him bound until he was exhausted with his struggles. On the way to Mintaro the horse savaged two men, lamed three horses, and had a tussle with Wimpole which almost caused the overseer to wish he'd not told Bellshaw anything about him.
When the owner of Mintaro saw the great powerful, unbroken, fiery stallion, and heard of the damage he had already done, he was satisfied. He had no doubt he would win the wager, and that Glen Leigh would probably be seriously injured.
"It's worth a hundred to take him to Bourke," said Wimpole.
"You shall have it when he's trained," returned Bellshaw. "You must go in the same train with me."
"I'd best take a couple more hands with me," said Wimpole. "He's more than a match for me."
To this Bellshaw assented. All he thought about was injuring Leigh.
It was an awful experience taking the horse to Bourke, but after a lot of cruel treatment, which cowed him for a time, they succeeded. He was put in an ordinary cattle truck and securely lashed back and front; a band was also thrown round him and fastened to each side. Twice he broke the stout ropes, but finally he was tied securely.
Bellshaw watched the operation with evident pleasure. He was thinking what was in store for Glen Leigh. It made him smile grimly.
The station master asked Bellshaw what he was going to do with the horse if he got him safely to his destination.
Bellshaw explained about the wager, and who was to ride the horse.
The station master made an ordinary remark, but when the train started he muttered, as he looked after it, "Leigh'll be killed if he attempts to ride that brute."
CHAPTER XXIX
MAN AND HORSE LAY SIDE BY SIDE
There was some earnest conversation between Bellshaw and his overseer on the way to Sydney.
"You'll do it," said Bellshaw. "Promise me you'll do it, and I'll give you fifty pounds down."
"I'll manage it," said Wimpole.
"I shall be with the horse all the time, until he mounts, to see they don't tamper with him," he added with a wink.
Bellshaw laughed. They had hatched a wicked plot against Glen Leigh, and Wimpole was to carry it out.
"There'll be trouble if it's discovered," said Wimpole.
"You're not going to back down?"
"No, only if there's any danger of its being found out I shall bolt, and it will take more money than you offer to get me out of the country in comfort."
"How much do you want?" asked Bellshaw.
"I must have five hundred planked down before I do it," replied Wimpole.
"Too much," said Bellshaw, but after an angry altercation agreed to Wimpole's terms.
"The risk's great. It will be a case of manslaughter right enough if anything happens to Leigh, and it's discovered."
The announcement in huge placards and newspaper advertisements that Glen Leigh was to ride an unbroken stallion from Mintaro for a quarter of an hour, for a wager of two thousand a side, between Craig Bellshaw and Nicholas Gerard, roused curiosity to its highest pitch, and there was a prospect of an enormous attendance. Glen Leigh was confident Bellshaw would be unable to find a horse that could unseat him. Bill Bigs did not like the look of things; he thought of foul play. He did not trust Bellshaw. He knew the squatter would give a good round sum to injure Leigh.
Glen had been to Manley and seen Mrs. Prevost; he asked her to be his wife, and she consented. When she alluded to the past he said it was buried; he had no wish to unearth it. Clara Benny, as she was still called, looked much better since she had been with Mrs. Prevost. There was no doubt her health would be completely restored, but whether this meant the recovery of her lost memory was uncertain. Mrs. Prevost tried to persuade Glen not to ride in the match. She was sure he would be injured, Bellshaw was such a vindictive man.
Glen laughed her fears away, and made her promise to come and see him win the wager; he said Bellshaw would have no chance of using foul play against him.
"You'll give up the show after this match?" she begged.
"I'll hand my share over to Jim Benny," he answered. "I'll only go into the ring when you give me permission," he added smiling. He knew she would consent when he asked her.
The excitement caused over the two thousand pound wager was intense, and on Saturday night the building was crammed to suffocation.
Sam Wimpole had the horse in readiness, saddled and bridled, as it would have been impossible to do this in the ring. The horse was in a savage mood. Since morning he had gradually grown worse. Just before the performance was to commence he was in a perfect fury, lashing out, and biting at his tormentors.
Sam Wimpole watched him with a peculiar smile. When Craig Bellshaw came to look at Lion, as they named him, Sam cautioned him not to go near.
"Have you done it?" asked Bellshaw in a whisper.
"Yes, gave him an injection an hour ago. He's had three. I'll give him another before he goes into the ring; it will drive him almost mad. I wouldn't mount him for a thousand pounds."
"I shouldn't like to try you," said Bellshaw.
"I wouldn't really. What's a thousand pounds against your life?"
"Is it as bad as that?"
"Quite."
Bellshaw's smile was ugly. In imagination he saw Glen Leigh stretched out a crushed and battered mass.
The time drew nearer. A quarter of an hour before – the struggle was to commence at nine – Sam Wimpole took out a small syringe from his waistcoat pocket, crept up to the horse's side, and quickly made an injection. Lion shivered, then gave a snort, and tried to grab Sam as he nipped back into safety.
Sam wished to be rid of the syringe. It had done its work, but he dare not throw it away, and he could not go outside; he placed it in his trousers pocket for the time being.
Lion was led into the ring by two men who had long poles strapped on each side of his bit. No one was to be in the ring when Leigh took the bridle in his hand and the poles were loosened and taken away. There was a breathless silence as the horse stood quivering; it was broken by a deafening cheer as Glen Leigh came in. Lion reared and plunged at the sound, but was held fast. Leigh came towards him, a heavy whip in his hand. He walked straight up to the horse, looking him in the eyes; at that moment he fancied there was something wrong with Lion, who seemed frenzied. His eyes glowed like live coals, his breath was hot, steaming; Glen felt it on his face. He undid the pole straps, made a signal to the men, who hastily drew them away and ran out of the ring, and sprang into the saddle before Lion was aware of his intention. Glen knew if he once got safely seated half the battle would be won. Luck favoured him in this respect.
The horse had never been mounted until this moment, and for a few seconds he seemed paralysed with fright at the strange experience. This did not last long. With a wicked bound he tried to get rid of his strange burden. It was a vain hope. Glen stuck to the saddle like a limpet to a rock. Lion was a far stronger horse than the Savage, and Wimpole had given him a drug that would increase his strength and endurance until the effect died away. Never had Glen Leigh been on such a horse. He knew Lion possessed tremendous strength. The strain on his arms was immense, also on the whole of his body.
Lion did not act like an ordinary buckjumper. He had his own plans of getting rid of his burden; they were quite original because they had been brought into play for the first time. He had a long reach, and whenever he tried to bite Glen's thigh he had to pull his legs back quickly. The horse showed no inclination to lie down, or to crush Glen against the posts. Without the slightest warning he set off on a furious gallop round and round the ring. After a dozen rounds he began bucking as no horse ever bucked before. Up and down he went like a rocking horse, then on all fours off the ground, his back arched to a point, all the saddle gear strained to bursting.
Glen felt the perspiration pouring off him. It was the hardest struggle of his life, but he intended winning. He would not be beaten.
Everybody in the vast audience watched the large clock as the fingers crept slowly on, the large hand gradually drawing nearer to the quarter-past. Bellshaw watched the struggle between man and horse with absorbing interest. He knew what had been done, and that the horse possessed demoniacal strength for the time being.
Mrs. Prevost, her face white, her hands clutching nervously, watched every movement in the ring; how she prayed for his safety, and for the clock to point to a quarter-past nine. Never had she undergone such an ordeal. It would be in her memory for the rest of her life. Supposing he were killed? The horse seemed like some evil beast possessed of devils. She almost shrieked as a mad plunge nearly unseated Leigh for the first time, but he was still there. By some marvellous power he stuck to the saddle and the battle went on.
Glen Leigh knew the horse did not lose strength; rather had he gained it during the last few minutes. It surprised him, but he had no time to think.
Lion stood on his forelegs, his head almost touching the ground, his hind quarters straight up in the air. In this horizontal position he twisted like an eel, trying to wriggle Glen on to his neck. He leaned right back until his body was level with the horse's, then changing his whip quickly, he hit backwards, bringing the heavy knob hard on the root of the tail. This was too much for Lion. He came down on all fours and Glen shot bolt upright. There was a tremendous cheer. It was a wonderful piece of riding.
"I've never seen such a devil of a horse," said Nick. "It seems to me he's mad. I hope no harm will come to Glen."
Bill was nervous. It was the first time he had felt such a sensation. He turned to the bookmaker and said in a low voice, "It's my belief somebody's doped that horse – given him a drug. He'd never go on like that if he hadn't had something."
"They'd hardly dare do that," answered Nick.
"You don't know Bellshaw. He's capable of doing anything," returned Bill.
There was no time for more. Lion was at it again, fighting more furiously during the last five minutes than he had done before. It was a question of endurance. Would Glen Leigh last out? Once, twice, a third time, he swayed in the saddle. A woman's cry echoed through the building. It was Mrs. Prevost. She had to be held up in her seat. It was only by exercising her will power to the uttermost that she recovered.
Bellshaw stared at the strugglers with his eyes bulging. He looked at the clock – four minutes, and Glen Leigh was well nigh dead-beat. Not one person in that vast crowd thought the horse would throw him, but they dreaded lest he should fall off exhausted.
Three minutes and he still stuck on, but his grasp on the reins loosened, and Lion, feeling this, redoubled his efforts. The fight was terrific, too thrilling almost to witness. The horse possessed almost miraculous strength.
Two minutes, and for the next sixty seconds Lion bucked like a clockwork machine until every bone in Glen's body felt like cracking. Only one minute to the quarter and still Glen kept his seat. Half a minute more; a great gasp came from the crowd as Glen sank forward, clasping the savage brute with both arms round the neck, but he was still in the saddle. He was not thrown. The position was one of grave danger for Lion could reach his arms with his mouth. The horse stopped, panting, his nostrils blood red, his eyes shooting fire; they gleamed angrily.
"Get off," yelled Nick.
"Get off," yelled Bill, and hundreds of voices took up the cry. A shudder of horror passed through the huge crowd. Women fainted. Strong men shook. Hundreds hid their faces.
Lion, with a sudden swerve of his neck, got his teeth in Glen Leigh's arm. The pain was terrible. The muscles burned like fire. He caught sight of the clock. Only a second or two and he would win. Could he stand it? Lion tore his arm, then tried to seize his leg, but Glen was too quick for him.
"Time!"
A terrific shout.
"Time!" shouted the frantic crowd, and as Glen Leigh heard it he rolled out of the saddle in a dead faint; before anyone could rush up Lion planted his fore feet on his chest and bent his head towards his face.
"Shoot him! He'll tear his face," shouted Nick.
"You can't. He's my horse," yelled Bellshaw.
Bill rushed forward, an iron bar in his hand, and in the nick of time brought it down on Lion's head with a mighty sweep. He dropped like a log. Man and horse lay side by side in the ring.