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."