Читать книгу The Dark Highway - Arthur Gask - Страница 6

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THE weighing out was accomplished quickly, and the candidates were soon parading before the stands. There were eighteen runners, and not a few of them were as magnificent specimens of the thoroughbred as one could wish to see.

Gay Hussar was now top weight, and, carrying nine stone two, he led the procession. He was a fine, upstanding roan, and he looked trained to the hour.

"There goes the winner," said a man on the rails as he passed by. "He'll put paid to everything in the last hundred yards."

"Not he," said another man disdainfully. "He'll never last with nine stone two in a fast run race, and old Rattlesnake'll make the pace a cracker. You see if he doesn't with Muggins up."

"Blow Muggins," returned the first man. "He's a bad finisher. There's always too much jumping about when he starts using his whip. He unbalances his mounts every time."

"Wattle Day'll win," remarked a woman. "It's a good thing to- day, and they're trying. The milkman told my cook so, this morning."

There was a guffaw from those standing round, and the woman got very red.

"Hullo," called out someone a moment later, "look at that one. His jockey's got a handful there."

A big and unprepossessing black horse was just passing, and he was evidently not appreciating the proximity of the crowd. He edged along sideways, and kept showing the whites of his rather evil-looking eyes. His jockey had got him hard held.

"That's Black Wolf," replied a horsey man, "trained by James Dice, over near the Coorong."

"Well, he doesn't stand an earthly," remarked his friend, "and yet I see they've got the cheek to declare six pounds over- weight."

"So they have," said the horsey individual, glancing thoughtfully upon his card. "Six thirteen, instead of six seven. Now what does that mean, I wonder?" He looked up again and craned his neck to get another view of the horse. "Well, I don't agree with you, old man," he went on the next moment, "that he's got no chance. From all his looks, he seems to me to have a darned good chance. He's ugly for sure, and I don't like his forelegs, but look at his long, deep quarters and the way he's muscled up. He's workmanlike, and a stayer, and by cripes I'll have a dollar on him, anyhow. Hell pay fifties if he'll pay a penny," and off the speaker hurried towards the tote.

But the horsey-looking man was not by any means the only one who was discussing the possibilities of Black Wolf.

Two men on the trainers' stand, amongst others, were speaking about them at that very moment.

"Anything in it, do you think, Fred?" asked one of them, cocking his eye very shrewdly. "I asked Dice just now and he said he'd got a tenner on him."

The other pursed his lips sceptically. "And that's about all he could have, Bob," he replied. "I heard last month he was dead broke and on the rocks. No, I don't think his brute is any good at all in this company, although I admit I was a bit taken with the look of him just now in the paddock."

"But I've heard rumours, I tell you, Fred," persisted the other. "Months ago, I heard a tale that old man Dice had got a rough 'un on his station quite out of the ordinary. He was keeping it very dark, they said, but one day he was going to rip everything up. Ugly as the devil his horse was, but could go like the wind."

His friend shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Well," he remarked, "he would have hardly chosen to-day to bring off his big trick, now would he? With Abimeleck running, he would have known his chance was hopeless, and we all thought Abimeleck a fairly certain runner, until up to a couple of hours ago. But come on, we'll go and look at the tote."

The starting bell had just rung and the horses were preparing to line up. The two men reached the totalisator building, in front of which the usual crowd was thronging to watch the last moments of the betting.

With the withdrawal of the great Abimeleck, it was undoubtedly turning out to be a good race for speculation, and the figures on the indicator were mounting briskly at every moment.

Already over £8000 had been invested in the machine, and Gay Hussar was now easily the first public choice. He carried over £1500. Next to him were Wattle Day with £1235 and Lord Burke with just over a thousand. Rattlesnake had nearly £350 to his credit, and there was a big drop then to The Wowser, with one hundred and five.

Right down at the bottom, £35/10/ had been entrusted to Black Wolf, and £15 only to Pretty Boy.

"Look, Bob," laughed the man whom his companion had called Fred. "If Black Wolf wins, James Dice will have the scoop of his life. It'll pay not far off two hundred, I should say."

But the other was intently watching the crowd, and for the moment it seemed he did not hear what his friend was saying.

Then he turned round suddenly. "I say," he said quickly. "I'm going to have a fiver on Black Wolf, anyhow. No, I don't care what you say," as the other laughed, "I'm going to have it on. Look here," and he dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. "I've just been watching Dice. There he is. Quick—standing by that girl in the grey hat. Look at his face now, and look at his sneering smile. I tell you, Fred, he's exactly like a man who's keeping in some tremendous secret, and if he's only got a tenner on as he says, I'll swear all the same he believes he's going to win. I'm going to row in with him anyhow, on the chance. So there now."

"Don't be a fool, Bob," said his companion contemptuously. "Here, give me the fiver. I'll take on the bet."

"No, you don't, and I'm not a fool either. There's not a better judge of a horse in all Australia than James Dice, and now you just wait for me here while I go and put my fiver on."

They were not far from the £5 window, and, his money invested, the man was back again in less than a minute. His friend was still standing where he had been left, and greeted his return with an amused smile.

"I saw your fiver go up right enough," he remarked, "and it makes £40/10/ now on the brute, but—hullo—hullo, what the devil's happening now?"

He pointed in astonishment to the totalisator index, and, looking up, the other gasped in astonishment, too. The figures above Black Wolf had suddenly become animated into a giddy whirl. Up, up they went, one, two, five, ten, twenty, forty, fifty.

"Great Scot!" ejaculated the one who had taken the ticket. "Someone's just put fifty on. Now, where's old Dice?"

But the question was never answered There was the clang of a bell, a mighty shout—"They're off!" and everyone rushed to get some point of vantage for the viewing of the race.

The start had been an excellent one, and, whatever should eventuate, there could certainly be no grumbling on that score.

All had got away together, and for the first few yards it almost seemed that they were running in a straight line. Then Rattlesnake shot out his bony head in front, and, as the clever ones had predicted, at once proceeded to make the pace a cracker. Two furlongs from the start, and he was out a good three lengths by himself, with the field already becoming an extended one. Gay Hussar was running second, and his backers noticed with satisfaction that he had secured a good position on the rails. Close behind the favourite came a little group of four, with Lord Burke the most prominent of these.

"Rattlesnake's going too fast," remarked a thin, flashily- dressed woman in the front row of the grandstand. "I never did like Muggins—he's got such ugly teeth."

"Hush, Mother," reprovingly whispered a young girl who looked like her daughter. "Do be careful what you say."

"Well," insisted the thin woman obstinately. "He is riding Rattlesnake very badly, and I wish to goodness your father had never told us to back him. I'd have much rather had the half crown on Wattle Day."

Rattlesnake was still going like the wind, and with half of the journey covered he was still in front. Wattle Day, however, was not far behind him now, and, in the bunch of horses that followed Gay Hussar was the most prominent, still running on the rails. Several of the others, however, were also close up, with the big Black Wolf lurching furtively along on the outside. The latter's action was certainly not pretty, for he ran too low on the ground to please most people, but his method of progression was at any rate effective, and he reached out well with every stride.

"Rattlesnake's tiring," said a man on the flat, peering through an antiquated pair of glasses. "His jockey's moving on him with his hands."

"I like Gay Hussar as well as anything," said another. "So far, at any rate. Wilkie's had an arm-chair ride."

All this while young Stanley Barton had been standing at the back of the grandstand, but mechanically only was he taking in the incidents of the race. He was much too worried about his uncle to be really concerned as to what was happening on the course and, in a bored, indifferent sort of way, he was idly taking stock of the people near him. Suddenly his eyes fell upon the girl whom he had seen with the owner of Black Wolf. She was only a few yards from him, and instantly he was interested. For some reason, she vibrated some strange chord in him. She was certainly very pretty. Looking about one or two and twenty, she was of medium height, with a well rounded and beautifully proportioned figure. She had fine, clear-cut features and a wealth of rich, dark brown hair. Her eyes, he thought, were lovelier than any he had ever seen.

He meditatively regarded the man who stood with her, the man who owned Black Wolf, and the latter struck him at once as of an unusual personality. He was tall and fine looking, with a strong, self-reliant pose. The face was handsome, but marred a little by a certain hardness and contemptuous arrogance of expression. He looked like a man who would always have a good opinion of himself, and be always quite confident that his ideas were the only ones to be considered.

Young Barton wondered rather jealously what was the nature of the man's relation to the girl, and his query was, in part, answered almost at once.

The girl put up a shapely little hand to adjust her hat. The hand was her left one and it was ungloved. She wore neither wedding nor engagement ring.

The young man smiled to himself, but in whatever channel his thoughts might then have wandered they were turned back suddenly to the happenings on the course.

A great storm of shouting had arisen, for the race was now approaching its critical stage. The horses were well into the straight for home, and to the great joy of his supporters it was seen that the favourite was leading, well in front.

For the moment it seemed actually that he was coming home alone, but by the one furlong post he began to falter, and in a few yards three horses flashed up level with him, almost simultaneously together. They were Wattle Day, Lord Burke, and the early pace-maker, Rattlesnake—the last, to the great surprise of many, now coming great guns again.

"Wattle Day wins," roared the crowd. "No, its Rattlesnake. Good old Rattlesnake; come on now."

But then, as so often upon the racecourse side, the unexpected happened.

Something big and gaunt was seen to loom up on the outside—a horse that came suddenly from nowhere and that no one had considered before. A low-running, black animal that was going twice as fast as anything and galloping like the wind.

"Why it's Black Wolf!" roared a man in amazement, "and he'll win as he likes."

And there was no doubt about it. Black Wolf was running like a racehorse incarnate.

He passed Gay Hussar and Wattle Day almost as if they were standing still; he shook off Lord Burke in a couple of strides, and, when the gallant Rattlesnake, for just one fraction of a second, seemed to hold him, his jockey lifted his whip once, and the tiring son of Venom was left instantly behind.

The farther Black Wolf ran the farther he was in front, and he passed the judge's box, hard held, three lengths to the good. The amazed crowd just gasped in their surprise.

"By jove," swore one disgusted owner under his breath, "but what a certainty to bet on if we had only known."

In their astonishment the crowd seemed at first quite unable to take it in, and then with envious faces they thronged round the totalisator, curious to see what dividends the horses would pay.