Chapter XXXVIII. The Up-Country Race Meeting—Down—a Brilliant Finish.

I had been about three weeks on the new run when the day arrived on which the races were to take place. I rode down early in the morning to breakfast at home, and accompany my friends to the course. They had rigged up a four-in-hand in the American waggon This contained uncle, aunt, and Melton Minimus in the front seat’ and Harry and Miss Grave behind. Harry had tried to persuade his page 162 adored to ride with him on a neat lady's hack he had given her, but as she had not yet tried the animal, she feared the excitement of the racecourse might cause it to be too spirited for a timid horsewoman—Fanny, who had arranged to ride with me, offered to take the seat if he so much preferred the saddle, but he declined, much as he had previously urged the advantages of riding as a means of Iocomotion. The back seat seemed now to offer greater inducements than before. He said it was the proximity to the luncheon basket. Charlie had taken Dot quietly down beforehand.

We arrived on the course shortly before the bell rang to saddle up for the first race—the Maiden Plate. Having left my cousin with her friends, I at once proceeded to the saddling paddock with my uncle, who was, as usual, to officiate as judge. I will pass over the description of the scene with as few words as possible The day was a bright sunny one, not too hot—in fact, all that could be desired. The spectators were as varied as they ever are where crowds are drawn together. A large proportion of them arived on horseback. Carriages and traps were few. Their places were taken by spring carts and drays, in which the hardy settlers brought their wives and families. In some cases these homely conveyances were drawn by yokes of stolid-looking bullocks, which certainly had not the appearance of being out for a day's pleasure or excitement, The few seedy-looking individuals who had brought ‘under and over tables’ and other games of chance (?) usually seen on racecourses, looked to be doing a fair business amongst the simple country people. The occasional shouts of ‘I'll lay, I'll lay, I'll lay' proved that the bookmakers were not entirely unrepresented, though being a small meeting they were not present in any force.

The centre of attraction was, of course, the saddling paddock, and the knowing ones were eagerly scanning the horses, six in number, which were being saddled. There was one great advantage here over the larger meetings—the horses were almost all locally owned, and fairly well-known. We all ran to win if possible, so that holding and foul running were unknown at these pleasant little gatherings. I at once noticed that the crowd round poor Dot was actuated with a spirit of ridicule rather than admiration. Her general appearance and stiff movements in the paddock did not give one the idea that she could gallop. However, I quietly backed her at very long odds, which were easily obtained, to an extent I could ill afford. Harry and uncle had both put a little on her, but did not appear to view her chances in a very favourable light. Charlie had also invested a little. Had his purse not been limited, he would have put on a pot, he said.

I donned my cap and jacket of dark blue, constructed by my fair cousin's hands, and weighed out all right. As I mounted, Mr. Morris, the would-be wit, tempted me grievously to kick him.

‘Frank,’ he exclaimed, as he rode by on Hurricane, the favourite, ‘no wonder you look so blue having to ride that brute. The colours are most appropriate.’

‘It's black you'll be lookig when I lick you hollow, Mr. Self-conceit, and that'll be worse,’ I retorted.

I took my preliminary amid roars of laughter. The mare moved in a most awkward style at starting, owing to the old stiffness. I was not, however, alarmed, as I knew it would soon go off. I was alarmed, though, at her total lack of the excitement generally felt by horses on the course, and her dull disregard of my spurs when I tried to wake page 163 her up a bit. Charlie came up, as usual, and offered whispered advice. This time I deemed it advisable to follow it. ‘Don't spur her; she doesn't like it. When you want to make her slide, give her a sudden whack round the ribs with your whip, but not too hard. She's got rather sulky since you rode her last.’

The second bell rang, and we were at the starting post. Here some little delay occurred through the efforts of Hurricane and another to get away before Mr Bowden, who officiated as starter, dropped the flag. Dot was not by any means anxious, I noticed with increasing alarm. She stood with her head down, looking as if it would be a matter of total indifference to her if they didn't start till Doomsday. The continued laughter at my expense, and a remark I overheard, ‘Why didn't old Melton stop Frank making such a fool of himself?’ roused me, and the flag falling at the same instant, my whip did the same. The effect was electrical. The mare was more roused than I was, and bolting through her horses, kept the lead at a pace which astonished everyone for the first half mile. I then managed to get a pull at her, fearful that she might not be able to keep it up, but this proved a mistake, for Hurricane and Deceiver, the two most fancied in the race, passed me, and the shouts as we swept by the judge's box for the first time were maddening ‘Hurricane will have it!’ ‘Deceiver for ever!’ ‘Dot for a tenner!’ Before another round was traversed the positions might be altered. They were. The excited yells of the crowd frightened Dot now her blood was well up, and notwithstanding my utmost endeavours to prevent her, she dashed up to Hurricane, and in passing seemed to swerve in against him, and was hurled to the ground by the collision, though the powerful gelding continued his course with no worse effects than a slight stagger. I lay almost under the mare stunned for the time, but a hundred hands were ready to help me, and I was carried to the waggon, where, with the help of a flask of brandy, I soon regained consciousness. The first thing that I remembered, as I recovered consciousness, was Fanny's face bending over me with an expression of glad relief, for she had feared that I might not wake again.

Hurricane had won the race, with Deceiver second. Dot, they told me, had regained her legs and appeared none the worse for her fall. I was severely shaken, and it was very evident that I could ride no more that day. They wished to take me home at once, but this I would not allow.

Just at this time a man came up to the conveyance, touching his hat, which, like the rest of his attire, was of very little account. ‘Please, sir,’ he said, ‘have yer secured a jock to ride th' mare in th' Cup? If yer ain't I'd be mighty proud t' ride her for yer. Master Charlie ain't strong enough in th' arms, for she's a terror t' pull, I know.’

I looked at the fellow in astonishment. His appearance was far from that of a respectable jockey, yet he had a horsey look and the bandy legs of a man who was much in the saddle. I suddenly recognized him as the fellow who had just told me the mare could gllop.

‘No, I have no jockey for her,’ I replied, wearily, ‘and I don't intend to run her again to-day. I shall scratch her for the Cup.’

‘Sorry t' hear yer say so, sir. Th' fust spin only warmed her; she'll be in better form. I'll swear she'll do it, though the knowin' ‘uns don't think so. Thur is a pile to be made on her. I've been a page 164 jock in th' old country, but th' drink spoilt my chance. I'm all right to-day, an' would giv' anythin' for a chance of a mount on th' mare.’

‘Oh, Frank,’ exclaimed Fanny, aside to me, ‘do let him ride her. You'd win your money back, very likely, for he knows her, and is confident she can win. I've heard of the man. They say he's a capital horseman when sober.’

‘But Fanny,’ I said in a low tone, ‘I have lost all the spare coin I possessed. Indeed, I don't know that I have enough to pay my losses. I can't afford to put a penny on her, so what's the good of it. I must scratch her.’

Harry came up at this moment. He had been to examine the mare. He overheard my last words.

‘Scratch her! That you 'shan't! She's as right as a trivet, not a bit the worse for her tumble, and I have just got a very nice little thing on with Morris at splendid odds. You shall go halves with me if you like, for it's really more than I care to venture myself. They don't think her good enough for the Cup, though she opened their eyes a bit last time. Still, they can see she's an awkward brute to ride, and her fall tells against her in the betting, The worst of it is, it is too late to secure a good jock. I'd ride her myself, but my dear girl here won't hear of it since you came to grief.’

‘Oh, Mr Melton, don't let him, pray don't let him,’ put in the girl in question.

‘Well, there's a fellow here has promised to ride if I'll run her, but Harry, mind he doesn't get any beer before the race; he's a regular swiper.’

The thing was arranged, and our ragged friend was raised to the seventh heaven of delight at being allowed to ride the mare. He went up to her at once, and never left her side till it was time for him to don my colours and weigh for the race.

In the meantime a Maori Pony Race and the District Hurdles came off. Although the pony race was confined to Maori riders and steeds, they were allowed to enter their horses for any of the other races they liked. In some cases they owned valuable horses, and trained them very fairly, but the pony race was for animals under a certain height which had never been trained, and in all probability had never seen oats in their lives. It was the best contested race of the day. Four wiry-looking little animals, by no means burdened with flesh, a little too fine in racing parlance, were saddled up, and four wiry-looking jocks mounted. Their dusky faces showed intense excitement, which was shared by their diminutive steeds. Their colours were much after this wise:—No. 1, white shirt and black cap, viz., billy cock hat minus brim; No. 2, red Crimean shirt and no cap; No. 3, no shirt, but white cap; No. 4, red cap, tattered breeches, and spurs. They came up to the starter in a line as if on parade, their stirrups grasped between the toes of their bare feet. Boots, had they possessed them, would have been discarded, as with them this favourite grip of the stirrup is, of course, impossible. The flag dropped, and they were off. Whip and spur from start to winning-post was their beau ideal of finished jockeyship. The first three could have been covered with the proverbial sheet the whole way round, and No. 1 the happy possessor of both shirt and cap, brought up the rear astonishingly near the front. It was even betting who would win, and the public considered it a dead heat tor the three as they dashed past the post. Uncle, however, just managed to catch sight of the nose of No. page 165 4 first, and pronounced him the winner, while No. 2 and 3 had to run again for second place, which resulted in a victory for the Crimean shirt.

The District Hurdles brought four horses to the post. Charlie had a mount on a nice-looking bay belonging to his brother-in-law, Sylvester, and brought him in a winner in a very creditable manner, after negotiating the hurdles without a fault. Two of the others, although faster horses, lost their chances by balking, being badly ridden, and the third unseated his rider.

After this race Morris rode up to the waggon, and asked me, in a taunting manner, if I wished to back my outsider for the Cup race just about to be run; if so, he would accommodate me at even longer odds than he had given Harry. Stung by his manner, although I had already too much on, I said, ‘Yes, I would have another tenner with him.’ And now the bell rang for the Cup candidates to saddle up, and from my seat in the waggon I saw Dot start again for her preliminary, amid another storm of scornful laughter. This time, however, the jockey was, perhaps, the principal cause. He had borrowed a pair of riding breeches and boots, which were a world too wide for him, wore no spurs, but was armed with a long, slender supplejack, cut from the bush, instead of the usual jockey whip. My cap, tied under his chin with a bit of flax, and the blue jacket completed his outfit. The others came out, and they were soon at the post. Hurricane, who was also in this race, was installed a very warm favourite. Dot certainly looked a little more excited this time, but her jock thought it best to follow my example and set her moving by allowing the long, lithe cane to almost meet round her ribs, as Mr Bowden dropped the flag to a grand start. She bolted to the front, and kept there for the first mile, then Hurricane and two others passed her.

‘She's sulky! she's shutting up!’ cried Harry. ‘Why doesn't he warm her up a bit?’

‘What a horrid shame!’ said Fanny. ‘I fear she's done, but he should try. The race is lost.’

‘He sees she can't do it. and isn't trying. It's all up. Just my luck, Fanny,’ I replied.

I thought what a fool I had been to have ventured so much money on her with a jockey of whom I knew nothing. There seemed no chance. Although she was not losing ground now, still there was too wide a distance between her and the leaders. Now, when it appeared too late, the slender supplejack curled twice in rapid succession round her well-turned flanks—and watch the effect! The mare had suddenly acquired a speed of which even she had not dreamt before. With head outstretched, the bit seized between her teeth, the stiffness entirely vanished, she literally flew over the ground, as if she had been merely cantering before, and ere the next few furlongs were covered she had passed the two others, and was at Hurricane's quarters hands down. Morris, who was himself riding, now took to whip and spurs, and the animal answered gamely to the call, but Dot was not to be shaken off. The pace was terrific as they came thundering up the straight run in, the excitement intense!

‘Hurricane has it!’ was the cry, for it seemed utterly impossible that the mare could catch up the length required to win. She appeared to be doing her utmost, her jockey sitting with hands still down, while Morris looked confident, though still using whip and spur mercilessly, Why did not that talismanic rod again rise and fall?

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Could it be that he thought it useless? that he knew it was not in her? In another moment the race would be Hurricane's; in but less than that moment up went the rod. It was enough; it did not fall. Dot took the hint, and with the grandest effort of the day managed to forge herself forward, and won by half a length. My luck at last had turned. Everything comes to him who waits. The cheers were deafening. The jockey was carried shoulder high round the paddock in appreciation of his magnificent finish. ‘I he owner would have been accorded the same honour, but his bruises and shaken condition prevented him from accepting this kind attention. Our lady friends were delighted, having, of course, heavily backed the winner, and began counting up the number of pairs of gloves they had won, and fixing on the colours and most desirable number of buttons. The exitement made me feel worse, and we left the course, Harry undertaking to drive the four-in-hand, as uncle could not leave his post. My winnings for the day amounted, after deducting the losses on the first race, to about two hundred and fifty pounds, and neither I, nor, indeed, the general public, were sorry that the principal part of this sum came out of Mr Morris’ pocket, as he was by no means a favourite, and it was a lesson of which he stood much in need. He was obliged to part with Hurricane to enable him to square up. much to that animal's future satisfaction, as he exchanged a hard and cruel task master for one who had some consideration for the noble animals who contribute so much to our comfort and enjoyment.