The Second String by Nat Gould (inspirational books to read txt) 📖

middle of the night the black stole out of the tent, leaving Miah asleep. He knew his way almost as well in the dark as by daylight. Keeping well to the rear of the camp he approached the tent of Amos Hooker noiselessly, carrying in his hand a big pearling knife. Lying on the ground he listened intently, but heard no sound. Crawling snake-like round the canvas he came to the opening, where he again stopped, listening. He peered into the darkness, but saw nothing. Crawling inside he felt his way cautiously, the slightest noise might rouse his intended victim.

His hand felt the rough mattress on which Amos Hooker lay. Kylis stood up, motionless, then bending down he found out how he lay by his breathing. His eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness, and he saw a faint outline of Hooker's form.

Suddenly, quickly, with a panther-like spring, Kylis was on top of the sleeping man. His strong left hand felt for the throat, and caught it in a grip of iron; the black raised his right hand and struck home at his victim's heart. A faint gurgling sound was heard, a convulsive shudder, and then Amos Hooker lay still for ever.

Kylis crawled about the tent hunting for the bag of gold. He dragged the body off the bed, pulled it over, and in another minute had the bag in his hand. He made his way out of the tent and disappeared in the darkness.

Next morning Amos Hooker was found stabbed to the heart, and Kylis had vanished.

Miah was questioned, but it was evident the terrified black knew nothing about the deed. Search was made for the murderer, but there was not much heart put into the work.

Some of the pearlers showed plainly they were not at all sorry Amos Hooker was gone from their midst. He had bullied everyone in the settlement and was generally disliked.

"I wonder what Kylis did it for," said one man.

"He had good reason for it, no doubt; Amos was a devil where blacks were concerned," answered another.

CHAPTER TWENTIETH THE TRAINER'S SUGGESTION

When Jack Redland and Barry Tuxford arrived in Sydney, it was arranged that the former should go to Randwick and ascertain if Joel Kenley would take charge of Lucky Boy.

"He will probably have received a letter from his brother about you," said Barry, "and that will serve as an introduction."

Nothing loath, Jack went by train and found his way to Joel Kenley's house.

The trainer's stables were at lower Randwick, where he had a comfortable house and about a score horse boxes. Jack was favourably impressed with his first glimpse of the "Newmarket" of New South Wales. He saw the racecourse as the train went past and wound at a steady pace up the hill. He had no difficulty in finding Joel Kenley's, for the first man he asked said, in reply to his question,—

"Know where Joel lives, I should say so, there's not many people hereabouts do not know him."

"A celebrated trainer, is he?" asked Jack.

"You may well say that. He's won nearly all our big races at one time and another, and he's about as clever as any man can be with horses."

Jack thought his informant looked like an old jockey, and was about to ask him if his surmise was correct, when the man saved him the trouble by saying with a smile,—

"I see you have sized me up. I was a well known rider fifteen years ago, but I got too old fashioned, it's the young 'uns get all the luck in these days."

"I was going to ask you if you were a jockey," said Jack. "It does seem rather hard lines that a man who has given the best part of his life to his work should be discarded when he is old. I suppose you made sufficient to live on?"

The man shook his head as he replied,—

"There was not much chance, I got a fair amount of riding, but the fees did not amount to much, it is different here to the old country, where a jockey can earn thousands a year."

"I suppose so," said Jack.

"You are a new arrival here?"

"I am, I came out to Fremantle some months back."

"Fremantle? Then perhaps you know Mr. Tuxford—Barry Tuxford?"

Jack laughed as he replied—

"I ought to, he came here with me, we arrived the day before yesterday."

"That's strange now, very strange. He'll know me if you mention my name—Bricky Smiles. I once rode a horse for him here, at Sydney, before he was sent to Western Australia; it won, and I believe he backed it to win a good deal more than he gave for it, at any rate I had a nice present, he was more liberal than some owners I could name."

"I shall certainly tell him I met you," said Jack, "but I must hurry on, I am anxious to see Mr. Kenley."

"I'll walk down the hill with you if you like," said Bricky.

"Do," replied Jack, "I shall be glad of your company."

There was a cool breeze blowing from Coogee Bay which made it pleasant and refreshing, and Jack contrasted his present surroundings with those of his pearl fishing experiences. He liked the look of the place, and thought, as many have done before him, that Randwick is especially favoured by Nature, and that a more suitable spot it would have been hard to find for training quarters.

His companion watched him keenly, thinking to himself, "He's a good bred one, I'll bet; a bit different to some of 'em we get out from the old country."

Bricky Smiles had met many men in his time, and experience taught him to pick and choose with discernment.

"That is Joel Kenley's house," he said, as they turned the corner at the foot of the hill, and faced the wide clean road with neatly trimmed hedges and pretty picturesque houses.

Joel Kenley's training stables were almost perfect in their appointment, and since he had taken over command, he had been careful to keep everything in order. Jack had seen many training establishments in the old country, far more extensive than this, but he thought he had never come across one that looked more business-like, or compact.

"I'll not go in with you," said Bricky, smiling. "Joel's a cut above me now, although there was a time when he would have been very glad for me to do him a turn."

"And has he forgotten that time?" asked Jack, in some surprise.

"No, I can't say he has; but as you are a visitor, he'll no doubt prefer to see you alone. I daresay we shall meet again."

"Sure to," replied Jack, "and if I can be of any service to you, I shall be only too pleased. I will not forget to tell Mr. Tuxford I met you."

They parted, and Jack walked up the path to the trainer's house. The front door was open and a couple of fox terriers barked a welcome, as well as a warning, for they quickly decided the visitor was a friend and not an enemy.

Jack thought it all looked very home-like, and the barking of the terriers recalled to mind his visits to The Downs, and the joyous capers of Winifred's dogs as they sprang up at him and then careered wildly round the lawn.

The trainer was sitting in the front room and came to the door before he had time to knock.

Jack recognised him by his resemblance to his brother, and said with a smile—

"You are Mr. Kenley, I think, I have not much hesitation in saying."

Joel Kenley held out his hand, and said—

"And if I am not mistaken you are Mr. Redland. I had a long letter from my brother, Caleb, about you some months ago; where have you been all this time? I have been expecting to see you, and wondered what had become of you; however, come inside and make yourself quite at home—that is, if you are Mr. Redland," he added, laughing.

"I am Jack Redland, and it is quite evident we meet as friends."

It was a pleasure to Jack to talk about the old places at home, and Joel asked many questions about his brother. "We have been parted a good many years," he said, "and our letters have been few and far between; a trainer's life does not leave him much leisure for correspondence. I recollect Lewes well, and also The Downs. Sir Lester Dyke was a fine English gentleman."

"He is one of my best friends," replied Jack, "probably the best, and your brother has been very successful in training his horses. He does not keep many, but what he has are usually of a good class, and pay their way."

"Which is more than can be said for the majority of racehorses," laughed Joel. "Caleb was always a cute fellow, even as a youngster, and got the better of me on many occasions."

"I rode a winner for Sir Lester just before I sailed for Fremantle," said Jack; "Topsy Turvy in the Southdown Welter; it was a lucky race for me in every way."

"My brother mentions it in his letter, in fact told me all about it, and also that you were one of the best amateur riders in England. We must try and get you a mount or two here, I suppose you have no objections?"

"On the contrary, I shall be only too pleased to be in the saddle again. I have been pearl fishing in Western Australia; it was all right for a time, very interesting as an experiment, but I should not care to stick at it long," said Jack.

Joel Kenley laughed as he replied—

"There's a vast difference between pearl fishing and horse riding, I am afraid you will require some practice. Come out into Randwick track in the early morning, and I will give you a mount on something that will take you along at a fair pace."

This suited Jack immensely, and he broached the subject of Lucky Boy, and of Barry Tuxford's desire for Joel Kenley to take him into his stable if he had room and no objections.

For a moment the trainer hesitated, then he said—

"I have several patrons, but I do not think any of them will mind my taking the horse. Owners have become ticklish of late, and do not care for strangers bringing an odd horse or two into their camp; however, I can make it all right with them, and Mr. Tuxford may send Lucky Boy here as soon as he likes. What sort of a horse is he?"

"I have ridden him in two or three gallops, and consider him a very fair horse indeed. He's a stayer and has plenty of pace, a good bay, four years old, full of bone and muscle; he's a trifle on the big side now, anyway I think you will like him. He may not be equal to taking the measure of your cracks, although Barry is sanguine he will."

Joel Kenley smiled as he said,—

"I have never seen a horse for that part of the Colonies that was capable of holding his own with our lot. If there is anything to work on in Lucky Boy, I'll get it out of him, you may rest assured of that. If I may venture on a word of advice, I think you ought to buy another horse to lead him in his work and act as a sort of second string in case Lucky Boy cannot run at any time."

"A very good idea," replied Jack. "I should like to buy a second string, as you aptly call it, if you will take charge of him—but that would be bringing another stranger into the stable," he added, laughing.

"Never mind that," replied the trainer. "When I have found out the sort of horse Lucky Boy is, I shall be better able to advise you what kind of a second string you require. I can arrange for trials with some of the other horses later on, but, in the first place, it will