The Sweep Winner   By: Nat Gould (1857-1919)

The Sweep Winner

By Nat Gould

[Illustration]

London John Long, Limited 12, 13 & 14 Norris Street, Haymarket All rights reserved

Readers are requested to note that all the characters in this story are purely fictitious, and the names are not intended to refer to any real person or persons.

TO THE MEMORY OF MY SON CAPTAIN HERBERT R. GOULD, M.C., R.A.F. FLIGHT COMMANDER, 18TH SQUADRON Killed in Action on the Western Front, August, 1918

Contents

Chapter Page

I. THE GLITTERING WIRE 11 II. IN THE HUT 21 III. A STRANGE SITUATION 31 IV. "IT'S FOR A WOMAN" 41 V. WHY JIM CAME TO THE HUT 51 VI. "COME" 61 VII. THE FACE IN THE WATER 71 VIII. WAYS AND MEANS 81 IX. THE CHINAMAN'S SHOP 91 X. THE ACCUSATION 102 XI. JERRY, JOURNALIST 113 XII. IN SEARCH OF HORSES 123 XIII. LEIGH HEARS STRANGE THINGS 133 XIV. "A MAGNIFICENT BRUTE" 143 XV. THE BIG SHOW 153 XVI. MRS. PREVOST 163 XVII. JEALOUSY 173 XVIII. A QUESTION OF JOCKEYS 183 XIX. MRS. PREVOST'S DILEMMA 194 XX. THE DRAWER OF BARELLAN 205 XXI. LAME 215 XXII. SWEEP MONEY 225 XXIII. BEATEN 236 XXIV. AT FLEMINGTON 247 XXV. HE LOOKED AT HIS TICKET 257 XXVI. BARELLAN FALLS BACK 268 XXVII. WHAT A FINISH! 279 XVIII. A TERRIBLE SAVAGE 288 XXIX. MAN AND HORSE LAY SIDE BY SIDE 299 XXX. THE SWEEP WINNER'S HOME 311

The Sweep Winner

CHAPTER I

THE GLITTERING WIRE

A man on horseback shaded his eyes with his hands as he looked along the glittering line of wire which runs for hundreds of miles between New South Wales and Queensland, and forms the great rabbit proof fence, of which he was one of the keepers.

The blazing sunlight scorched all things living. Not a blade of grass was to be seen. The baked ground gasped with thirst. The slight breeze was like the breath from a huge furnace.

The wire was hot and dazzling. Millions of glimmering specks and hundreds of thousands of electric sparks danced on it in revelry. Merely to look at the shimmering wire blinded the eyes. The horse turned his head away. He was dried, shrivelled, mere skin and bone. Yet he was strong, enduring, capable of going long journeys; an heroic beast, fighting a terrific battle against tremendous odds; a faithful companion, a true friend always reliable. There was a mute appeal in his puzzled pathetic eyes, which questioned why such things were; why he should be rewarded for his efforts with a parched throat, an empty stomach, and a hot skin.

The man dismounted, carelessly placing his hand on the wire, then snatching it back quickly, with a sharp oath.

"Everything burns in this cursed country," he muttered.

The horse rubbed his nose against the man's arm.