The Runaways by Nat Gould (best way to read an ebook .txt) 📖

said Fred May.

"Of course I do," laughed Ulick.

"Then I know where you can buy a youngster that will come out at the top of the tree, and if he is well-trained will make a grand three-year-old."

"A two-year-old now?" asked Ulick.

"Yes; he is by Father Confessor out of Hilda, and is known as the Saint. He has not run yet, but you can accept my word for it he is a flyer. He's at Epsom, at Lowland Lodge, and we can have a look at him after the races."

"Is the figure high? I do not wish to give a big price, and I would have rather bought a three or four-year-old," said Ulick.

"Buy the Saint if you can, you will never regret it," said the trainer.

After the races they walked down to Lowland Lodge and inspected the Saint.

"Why, he's a grey!" exclaimed Ulick, in a disappointed tone, as the door of the box was opened.

"And there's been many a good grey racehorse," replied Fred May. "Never mind the colour. Look him over, and fancy he is a bright bay, or brown, or a chestnut, or anything you like, only forget he's a grey, and then I'm sure you will not find a fault in him."

Ulick was no mean judge of blood horses, and, acting on the trainer's advice and ignoring the colour, he looked the Saint carefully over. He was rather anxious to find an excuse for declining to buy him, but he failed; he was unable to "fault" the colt in any way. He was well shaped all over. His legs were sound and clean, also his feet, well let down behind, tapering off like a greyhound; he had also a strong back and loins, and muscular thighs. There was plenty of him in front of the saddle, and his shoulders sloped well, his neck set on perfectly, and his head denoted courage and endurance. He seemed to be shaped for speed, and evidently possessed staying powers. His colour was not prepossessing, for he was not a good grey, and this was the only fault Ulick could find with him.

"Well!" exclaimed the trainer, with a smile, when he saw he had finished his inspection, "what do you think of him?"

"He is perfect in everything except his colour. I must say he is about as bad a colour as a racehorse well could be," replied Ulick.

"Granted that is so, his colour will not prevent him winning. Do you recollect Buchanan winning the Lincolnshire Handicap? No, of course not, what am I thinking of? You were a little chap then, I expect. Well, he was a funny looking grey, something after the style of the Saint, but he spread-eagled his field that day, and no mistake. The race was run in a snowstorm, and he faced it like a lion; it blew straight down the course, and it was no light thing for a horse to meet it in his teeth. He was a good grey, and I have known others; it is all prejudice, the colour is all right if the horse is good enough."

Ulick hesitated. He felt tempted to buy, for he knew Fred May's judgment was sound, and that he seldom made mistakes. He had not yet asked the price, perhaps it would be prohibitory—he almost hoped so.

The owner of the Saint was anxious to sell him for the same reason that Ulick hesitated about buying; he did not like his colour. On this account he asked a price that he thought would tempt a wavering purchaser.

Two hundred guineas was the price placed upon the Saint, and Ulick was forced to acknowledge it was reasonable. He had seen yearlings sold for five times the amount that had turned out utter failures, and here was a two-year-old that in all probability would make a clinker.

Fred May made no remark when he heard the price asked for the Saint, but he was determined if Ulick did not buy him he would.

"The figure is reasonable," said Ulick, "but I abominate the colour. That is the only reason I do not feel inclined to buy him."

"Then you will not have him?" asked the owner.

"No, thanks, and I am very much obliged to you for showing him me and placing him on offer," said Ulick.

The owner laughed, and said, "I am not surprised; I want to sell him because he is such a confoundedly bad colour."

"Have you quite made up your mind?" asked Fred May.

"Yes," replied Ulick.

"Then I'll take him at that figure," said Fred, much to their surprise. "I don't care twopence about his colour, there's the make and shape of a great horse there, and, grey or no grey, he'll win races."

"When will you take delivery?" asked the seller.

"He can return home with the horses I have at Epsom. They are at Tom Lucas's boxes. I'll send a lad round for him this evening," said May.

The bargain was completed; and Fred May invited Ulick to accompany him to the house where he was staying for the races.

Nothing more was said about the Saint until after dinner, when Fred May remarked that they might as well go and see if the ugly-coloured customer looked any better in his new box.

"I am afraid the change of boxes will not improve him," said Ulick, "but we can go and see."

The Saint was quite at home in his quarters, and the lad who brought him from Lowland Lodge said he was as quiet as an old sheep.

"That is another point in his favour," said May. "There will be no trouble with the starting machine in his case."

Ulick half wished he had bought him, more especially as the trainer seemed so satisfied with his bargain.

"Do you really think he will make a good horse?" asked Ulick, when they were in the house again.

"I am as certain of it as anyone can be over such ticklish things as racehorses. I never saw a much better shaped colt, and he's cheap enough at the price."

"I almost wish I had bought him," said Ulick.

"You can have him at the price I paid if you wish," said May.

"That would hardly be fair to you," replied Ulick. "I must give you something for your trouble. If you had not had the courage to buy him, despite his colour, I should not have the chance perhaps now."

"If you really want him, pay me the two hundred guineas for him, and let me train him," said May.

"That goes without saying," replied Ulick. "Of course, you will train him; I should not think of sending horses elsewhere."

"Then let us conclude the bargain."

"Very well. I will give you the two hundred guineas and leave him in your charge," replied Ulick, and in this way he became the owner of the Saint.

During the season the Saint fully endorsed the good opinion formed of him by Fred May. He won four races, in one of which he beat the best of his year, much to the delight of Ulick and the trainer.

The Saint went into winter quarters with an unbeaten record, and racing men thought it a pity he was not in any of the classical events, but they were determined to keep an eye upon him in handicaps.

Eli Todd was surprised when he learned that Mr. Lanark, the owner of the Saint, was none other than Ulick Maynard. The Squire would have been still more astounded had he been enlightened upon the subject.

It was Ulick's firm determination to find Janet Todd and induce her to return home. He was thoroughly tired of being away from Hazelwell, and he meant to force Janet, if necessary, to tell her father the truth, and then Eli could impart it to the Squire. He puzzled his brains to think what Eli meant by saying it would cause even more trouble than had already occurred if what he partly suspected turned out true.

Ulick, however, did not believe that Eli would withhold a confession from Janet from his father.

"He wants more than mere suspicion to act upon," said Ulick to himself, "and he shall have it if I can find Janet. I can deal with the man who allowed the blame to fall upon me when I discover his name, and I shall not spare him."

He often thought about Irene, and wondered how she and Warren Courtly got on together. He had never liked Warren, although he had nothing against him, except his constant attentions to Irene, and as a result his marriage with her. This, however, he knew was partially his own fault, although he doubted if he would ever have succeeded in winning her. He left the course clear for Warren, and therefore rendered it a comparatively easy task for him.

It never occurred to Ulick that Warren Courtly had anything to do with the disappearance of Janet Todd. Had it been suggested to him he would have laughed at the idea as absurd.

CHAPTER X. "THE CURIOSITY."

The Saint's first appearance as a three-year-old was at Kempton Park in the Pastures Handicap, a mile race on the Jubilee course. Having wintered well, as the trainer anticipated, he developed into a fine three-year-old, and in the early spring had a real good trial with some first-class handicap horses. Fred May was exceedingly anxious to place the colt well, and decided upon the Pastures Handicap because the distance was suitable, and the class of horses he was likely to meet in a five hundred pound race would not trouble him much.

Ulick agreed with him, and accordingly the Saint was entered.

Contrary to their expectations, there were some good horses in the race, including the winner of the Lincolnshire Handicap, and a four-year-old named Pinkerton, who had won the Jubilee Stakes the year before.

"We are in better company than I fancied we should be," said Fred May, when he glanced down the entries, "and I expect we shall get a biggish weight. We can strike him out if he is badly in."

The handicap, however, proved to be a good one, and although the Saint had eight stone, a big weight early in the year for a three-year-old, both Ulick and the trainer considered he had a chance. Pinkerton had eight stone twelve, and this horse they considered the most dangerous. There are few more enjoyable places than Kempton Park for racing in the spring, or, in fact, at any time of the year.

Although the Pastures Handicap was not the principal race of the day, it attracted the most attention, mainly on account of the Saint being a runner. His two-year-old performances placed him almost on a par with the Derby horses, and the favourite for that race would have been regarded as a certainty in the handicap with eight stone. It was generally acknowledged by the "clever division" that a four-year-old like Pinkerton ought to be able to give the Saint twelve pounds. Mulgar, Kit Cat, and Ringbell were also fair performers, and Kit Cat had been booked as a "rod in pickle" for some time past. As she had only seven stone, it was regarded as her "day out"—in other words, that the weight was right and she was going for the money.

The ring was kept busy when betting was opened on the Pastures Handicap. Four to one bar one, was first shouted, Pinkerton being the favourite, but these odds soon expanded until it was four to one on the field.

In