Mary Grant Bruce

“ Everyone knew, too, that the work in Denny's case was likely to be shorter than usual, and that he cared very little so long as he might ride Kincraig to victory in the Melbourne Cup. Denny was not one to pull a long face at anything. He was quite prepared to meet death, as he met life throughout, with a joke, so long as it left him Kincraig's Cup. Then, two days before the Caulfield Cup, had come the hæmorrhage that left him a limp rag, chafing furiously in the hospital, while Kincraig had chafed and fumed in Patten's hands, refusing absolutely to be a trier in the big race. ”

“ Denny straightened himself at last.
"They've doctored him, the brutes!" he groaned. "Poor old Tom! An' it was his chance! What'll we do now, at all?" And, even with the question, the answer came to him, and for a moment he stood transfixed. Then he said "Blessed hour!" very softly, and, turning, ran.
Mr. Gleeson had time to work himself into something approaching frenzy before he saw the familiar scarlet-and-white jacket threading its way towards him. He uttered an exclamation of relief, and immediately composed a fine effort of rhetoric to be hurled at the tardy delinquent. ”

“ Upon my soul, it aggravates me every time I see Patten on the old horse's back. Never mind, Denny; we'll have you fit and back into the saddle before next year's Cup."
"Not me," said Denny, smiling faintly. "I always knew I'd go like all the M'Graths, but I didn't care, so long as I hung on to ride Kincraig in the Cup. Well, one can't have everything. 'Twill be something to see, anyhow, an' Tommy Patten'll get his chance. He's a good boy, is Tommy, if he is a trifle heavy on the bit." He broke off, coughing, and Thornton watched him with troubled eyes. ”

“ He's me own horse, if ever a horse was!"
"That he is," said Thornton soothingly; "we all know that, Denny. But I won't risk you; it wouldn't be safe. I'll go and scratch him."
"If y' do——" Denny cried. His voice rose almost to a scream as he faced Thornton, his eyes blazing in his white face. "There's Dawes over there wid his mare. He's sending her out wid little Levy on her, 'cause he can't get no other jockey. He'd jump at the chance of me. I swear I'll ride her if y' scratch Kincraig!"
"Don't be a fool!" Thornton said curtly, his own voice shaking. "I can't do it, Denny. ”

“ The strain on the trainer's nerves is fairly acute during the last hour before the Cup. "He's gone to weigh some time ago—ought to be back by this." He dropped his voice. "You know he's such a fool, and I don't like that crowd of Witchery's. Ours is the only horse they're frightened of, and I don't believe they'd stick at much. Hurry along, my boy!"
Denny nodded and was gone, threading his way swiftly among the crowd. A curt inquiry within the jockeys' room revealed no Patten. Most of the lads had dressed and gone, and none of those remaining knew anything of Kincraig's jockey's whereabouts. ”

“ Kincraig was a queer-tempered horse, and worked kindly for one rider only, Denny M'Grath, who adored him blindly, and was said almost to live in his box. But Denny fell ill, and another boy was put up to ride Kincraig in his work, the result of which was a bolt across country on a fine September morning, ending in an encounter with a barbed wire fence that left the Derby colt in such wise that Mat Gleeson, the trainer, hesitated over him, thinking a friendly bullet the easiest solution of his troubles. ”

“ Kincraig's bad luck was something of a proverb even in a notoriously unlucky stable. Beginning with excellent prospects as a two-year-old, he had been galloped on in his first race, and so badly knocked about as to throw him out of work altogether for the season. The enforced idleness had worked wonders, and his owner had entertained high hopes of the next year's Derby. ”

“ If you have not known it, there is nothing that can quite bring it home to you—that tense, strained moment, when a hundred thousand voices are hushed, a hundred thousand faces turned towards the shifting line of dim colours that forms across the green ribbon of the course as the gate goes down. ”

“ Across the grass Harry Thornton gave his impatient bay mare her head, her quick hoofs scattering the dew as he cantered over to Denny. The jockey greeted him with a little smile.
"Well, it was good enough, Denny, my boy," Thornton said, swinging himself off. "You had the watch on him?"
Denny nodded.
"Good as gold; but I always knew it," he said. "'Tis a gift, bar accidents. I reckon it 'd be a gift if he had a stone more, instead av a weight that's nothing but an almighty joke to him. The black horse never had a look in, an' old Kincraig carryin' thirteen pounds more'n he'll have on Cup day! ”

“ The longest-living author of this work died in 1958, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 65 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. ”