Robbery Under Arms Rolf Boldrewood (best way to read an ebook .TXT) 📖

had to say, it didn’t look quite so impossible as it did at first. We were to work apart. He was to get in with some of the betting men or sporting people that always came to country races, and I was to find out some of our old digger mates and box up with them. Warrigal would shift for himself and look after the horses, and have them ready in case we had to clear at short notice.

“And who was to enter Rainbow and look after him?”

“Couldn’t we get old Jacob Benton; he’s the best trainer I’ve seen since I left home? Billy the Boy told us the other day he was out of a job, and was groom at Jonathan’s; had been sacked for getting drunk, and so on. He’ll be all the more likely to keep sober for a month.”

“The very man,” I said. “He can ride the weight, and train too. But we can’t have him here, surely!”

“No; but I can send the horse to him at Jonathan’s, and he can get him fit there as well as anywhere. There’s nearly a month yet; he’s pretty hard, and he’s been regularly exercised lately.”

Jacob Benton was a wizened, dried-up old Yorkshireman. He’d been head man in a good racing stable, but drink had been the ruin of him⁠—lost him his place, and sent him out here. He could be trusted to go right through with a job like ours, for all that. Like many men that drink hard, he was as sober as a judge between one burst and another. And once he took over a horse in training he touched nothing but water till the race was run and the horse back in his box. Then he most times went in an awful perisher⁠—took a month to it, and was never sober day or night the whole time. When he’d spent all his money he’d crawl out of the township and get away into the country more dead than alive, and take the first job that offered. But he was fonder of training a good horse than anything else in the world; and if he’d got a regular flyer, and was treated liberal, he’d hardly allow himself sleep or time to eat his meals till he’d got him near the mark. He could ride, too, and was an out-and-out judge of pace.

When we’d regular chalked it out about entering Rainbow for the Grand Turon Handicap, we sent Warrigal over to Billy the Boy, and got him to look up old Jacob. He agreed to take the old horse, the week before the races, and give him a last bit of French-polish if we’d keep him in steady work till then. From what he was told of the horse he expected he would carry any weight he was handicapped for and pull it off easy. He was to enter him in his own name, the proper time before the races. If he won he was to have ten percent on winnings; if he lost, a ten-pound note would do him. He could ride the weight with some lead in his saddle, and he’d never wet his lips with grog till the race was over.

XLVI

So that part of the work was chalked out. The real risky business was to come. I never expected we should get through all straight. But the more I hung back the more shook on it Starlight seemed to be. He was like a boy home from school sometimes⁠—mad for any kind of fun with a spice of devilment in it.

About a week before the races we all cleared out, leaving father at home, and pretty sulky too. Warrigal led Rainbow; he was to take him to Jonathan Barnes’s, and meet old Jacob there. He was to keep him until it was time to go to Turon. We didn’t show there ourselves this time; we were afraid of drawing suspicion on the place.

We rode right into Turon, taking care to be well after dark. A real pleasure it was to see the old place again. The crooked streets, the lighted-up shops, the crowd of jolly diggers walking about smoking, or crowding round the public-house bars, the row of the stampers in the quartz-crushing machines going night and day. It all reminded me of the pleasant year Jim and I had spent here. I wished we’d never had to leave it. We parted just outside the township for fear of accidents. I went to a little place I knew, where I put up my horse⁠—could be quiet there, and asked no questions. Starlight, as usual, went to the best hotel, where he ordered everybody about and was as big a swell as ever. He had been out in the northwest country, and was going to Sydney to close for a couple of stations that had been offered to him.

That night he went to the barber, had his hair cut and his beard shaved, only leaving his moustache and a bit of whisker like a ribbon. He put on a suit of tweed, all one colour, and ordered a lot more clothes, which he paid for, and were to be left at the hotel till he returned from Sydney.

Next day he starts for Sydney; what he was going to do there he didn’t say, and I didn’t ask him. He’d be back the day before the races, and in good time for all the fun, and Bella’s wedding into the bargain. I managed to find out that night that Kate Mullockson had left Turon. She and her husband had sold their place and gone to another diggings just opened. I was glad enough of this, for I knew that her eyes were sharp enough to spy me out whatever disguise I had on; and even if she didn’t I should always have expected to find her eyes fixed upon me. I breathed freer after I heard this bit of