"Never mind, Murty," Jim said. "He knows the horse, and Shannon's able to stand a few pounds extra. He'll give us a good run."

"I believe ye, Masther Jim," said Murty, beaming. "He'll not disgrace us, an' if he don't win itself, then he'll not be far behind. There you are, Billy--that's the bell for weighin'. Hurry up now, and get over to the scales."

The black boy's lean figure, saddle and bridle on arm, threaded its way through the crowd round the weighing enclosure--a little s.p.a.ce fenced off by barbed wire. Presently they saw him coming back grinning.

"That pfeller sayin' I plenty too much pounds," he said in an unusual burst of eloquence.

"Ah, don't be rubbin' it in--don't I know it?" quoth Murty, taking the saddle and slipping it deftly on Shannon's back. "I dunno, did he think he was givin' me a pleasant surprise with the information by way of a New Year's gift. Does he think we've never a scales on Billabong, did ye ask him? There now, he's ready. Get on him, Billy, an' shove out into the track for a canter. I'll get nothing but chat from every one as long as you're here. Take him for a look at some of the hurdles, the way he'll know all about them when he comes to jump." He stood with a frown on his good-humoured face as Shannon and his rider made off.

Norah laid a hand on his arm.

"There's not a horse on the course better turned out, Murty," she said.

"No one can say the Billabong representative doesn't look fit."

Murty turned on her, beaming again.

"Well, indeed, he'll not be doin' the station any discredit, Miss Norah," he said happily, "an' if he don't win, well, we can't all be winnin', can we? Only we did win a race last year, whin none of ye were here to be watchin' us an' make it worth while. I'd like to score to-day, now that ye're all here to see--an' Miss Tommy too, that's never seen racin'." He smiled down at the English girl's pink face.

"I'm going to see you win to-day, Murty--I feel it in my bones," said Tommy promptly. "I've always loved Shannon, ever since I saw you jump those big fences with him when we put up the hare out mustering."

"Yerra, that one'd make a steeplechaser if he got the trainin',"

declared Murty, all his troubles forgotten. "Come a little higher up, won't ye, Miss Norah; we can see every jump from the top of the rise, barrin' the wan that's in the timber."

They followed him up the little hill until he declared himself satisfied with his position; and he spent the time until the flag fell in pointing out to Tommy the exact places where the hurdles were erected--pausing only for a proud look when Shannon thundered past below them in his preliminary canter, the green jacket bright in the sun, and every muscle in the horse's gleaming body rippling as he moved. He was reefing and plunging in his gallop, trying to get his head; but Billy soon steadied him, and presently brought him up the straight again at a quiet trot.

The other horses went out, one by one, until at length a field of eight faced the starter; and presently they were off, and over the first jump in a body. They came down the straight on the first time round, packed closely, a glittering ma.s.s of shining horses and bright colours. One dropped at the jump near the judge's box, and as the other horses raced away round the turn the riderless horse followed, while his jockey lay still for a moment, a little scarlet blur upon the turf. Eager helpers ran forward to pick him up, but he was on his feet before they could reach him, and came limping up the hill, a little bruised and infinitely disgusted.

"He's all right," Murty said. "Yerra, Mr. Jim, did ye see the ould horse jump! He wint ahead at his fences like a deer!"

The horses were in the timber; they peered anxiously at the bright patch of colour that showed from time to time, trying to see the familiar green jacket. Then, as the field came into view Murty uttered an irrepressible yell, for his horse shot ahead at the next jump and came into the straight in the lead. Murty gripped at the nearest object, which happened to be Norah's shoulder, and clenched it tightly, muttering, in his excitement, words in his native Irish. They thundered up the straight, Billy crouching on Shannon's neck, very still. Then behind him the Mulgoa horse drew out from the ruck and came in chase.

Nearer and nearer he came, while the shouts from the crowd grew louder.

Up, up, till his nose was at Shannon's quarter--at his girth--at his shoulder, and the winning-post was very near. Then suddenly Billy lifted his whip and brought it down once, and Shannon shot forward with a last wild bound. Murty's hat went up in the air--and Wally's with it.

"He's done it!" Murty babbled. "Yerra, what about Billabong now?" He suddenly found himself gripping Norah's shoulder wildly, and would have apologized but that Norah herself was dancing with delight, and looking for his hand to grasp. And the crowd was shouting "Shannon! Shannon!

Billabong!"--since all of these Cunjee folk loved Billabong and were steadily jealous of Mulgoa. Jim and Wally were thumping Murty on the back. Bob and Mr. Linton stood beaming at him. Below them Billy came trotting back on his victorious steed, sitting with a grave face, as expressionless as if he had not just accomplished his heart's desire.

But his dark, mysterious eyes scanned the crowd as he turned from weighing in, and only grew satisfied when he saw the Billabong party hurrying to greet him. They shook his hand, and smote him on the back, Dave Boone and Mick Shanahan prancing with joy. And Shannon, his glossy coat dark with sweat, nuzzled again at Norah's pocket for an apple--and this time got it.

This glorious event over, interest became focused on a trotting race, which brought out a queer a.s.sortment of compet.i.tors, ranging from King Lightfoot, a horse well known in Melbourne, to Poddy, an animal apparently more fitted to draw a hea.r.s.e than to trot in a race--a lean, raw-boned horse of a sad countenance and a long nose, with a s.h.a.ggy black coat which rather resembled that of a long-haired Irish goat.

There were other candidates, all fancied by their owners, but the public support was only for King Lightfoot, who ran in elaborate leather and rubber harness, and was clearly regarded by his rider as of infinite condescension to be taking part in such a very mixed company.

It proved, however, not to be King Lightfoot's lucky day. The horses started at intervals, according to their performances or merit, Poddy being the first to move, the Melbourne horse the last. King Lightfoot, however, obstinately refused to trot, whereas Poddy revealed unexpected powers, flinging his long legs abroad in a whirlwind fashion, and pounding along doggedly, with his long nose outstretched as if hoping to get it past the winning-post as soon as possible. No other horse came near him; his initial lead was never lessened, and he plugged doggedly to victory, while the crowd roared with laughter, and out in the timber King Lightfoot's rider wrestled with his steed in vain. Later, his prejudice against trotting in the bush removed by stern measures, King Lightfoot flashed up the track like a meteor, with his furious rider determined to show something of what his steed could do. By that time Poddy was once more unsaddled, and was standing under a tree with his weary nose drooping earthwards, so that the crowd merely yelled with laughter anew, while the stewards unfeelingly requested the Melbourne man to get off the track.

"Oh, isn't it hot!" Norah fanned herself with a bunch of gum leaves, and cast an anxious look at Tommy.

It was breathlessly hot. Not a hint of air stirred among the trees or moved the long dry gra.s.s that covered the paddock--now showing many depressions, where tired people or horses had lain down to rest. The horses stood about, drooping their heads, and swishing their tails ceaselessly at the tormenting flies; men and women sought every available patch of shade, while dogs stretched themselves under the buggies, panting, with lolling tongues. Children alone ran about, as though nothing could mar their enjoyment; but babies fretted wearily in their mothers' arms. Overhead the sun blazed fiercely in a sky of bra.s.s.

Now and then came a low growl of thunder, giving hope of a change at night; but it was very far distant, although a dull bank of cloud lay to the west. David Linton watched the cloud a little uneasily.

"I don't quite like the look of it," he muttered to himself. "I'll go and ask Murty what he thinks of it." But Murty had been swallowed up in a crowd anxious to congratulate him on Shannon's success, and his employer failed to find him at the moment. He came upon Sarah, however--sitting under a tree, with her baby wailing dismally.

"To hot for her, Sarah," David Linton said kindly.

"That's right, sir--it's too hot for anyone, let alone a little tiny kid," Sarah said wearily. "I'd get Bill to go home if I could, but I can't get on his tracks--and it's too hot to take baby out in the sun looking for him. If you come across him, sir, you might tell him I want him."

"All right," said the squatter. "But you wouldn't take that long drive home yet, Sarah--better wait until the sun goes down."

"Well, I'd go into Cunjee, to me sister-in-law's," said Sarah. "She'd let me take baby's things off an' sponge her--an' I'd give a dollar to do it. No more races with kids for me in weather like this!" She crooned to the fretting baby as Mr. Linton went off.

He found Tommy and Norah together under a tree near the track--hot, but interested.

"Where are the boys?"

"They're all holding ponies," Norah said. "I don't quite know why, but a very hot and worried man collected them to help start the race. What is it for, Dad, do you know?"

"Oh, I see!" David Linton laughed. "It's--a distance handicap--the ponies all start at the same moment, but from different points along the track."

"Yes, that must be it," Norah said. "Jim's away over near the timber with a little rat of a pony, and Bob is shepherding another fifty yards behind him, while Wally is quite near here with that big pony of the blacksmith's that has won ever so many races. She'll have a lot of ground to make up. But why must each one be shepherded, Dad?"

"Human nature," said David Linton, smiling. "These youngsters who are riding would sneak a yard or two if they weren't closely watched, and they would never start fair; the only way is to put each in charge of a responsible man with a good watch, and let him start them. What time is the race? Oh, four o'clock. Well, I never yet saw a pony race that started on time; neither the ponies nor the boys are easy to handle, and I see there are ten of them. Watch them; it's after four, and they must be nearly ready to start."

The ponies were strung out round the course, each with a "shepherd"

standing to attention near its bridle, watch in hand. They could see Jim's great form standing sentinel over a tiny animal, whose diminutive rider was far too afraid of the huge Major to try to s.n.a.t.c.h even a yard of ground; nearer, Wally kept a wary eye on the experienced jockey on the blacksmith's racing mare, who was afraid of nothing, but nevertheless had a certain wholesome respect for the tall fellow who lounged easily against a tree near him, but never for an instant shifted his gaze. The shepherds were waiting for a signal from the official starter.

It came presently, a long shrill whistle, and simultaneously each guardian stepped back, and the released ponies went off like a flash--all save Bob's charge, who insisted on swinging round and bolting in the wrong direction, while his jockey sawed at his mouth in vain.

Yawing across the track the rebel encountered the blacksmith's pony, who swerved violently in her swift course to avoid him, and lost so much ground that any chance she had in the race was hopelessly lost, whereat the blacksmith, who was standing on the hill, raved and tore his hair unavailingly. A smart little bay pony fought out the finish with Jim's tiny charge, and was beaten by a short head, just as Wally, walking quickly, came back to his party.

"That was a great race," said Norah. "Wally, you shouldn't walk so fast on such a day. It makes one warm only to look at you."

Wally answered with an absent air that was unlike his usual alertness.

The girls, watching the ponies come in, noticed nothing, and presently he drew Mr. Linton aside.

"Did you notice that cloud, sir?" he asked, in a low voice. "I didn't until I was down on the track with the pony, looking in that direction.

But it's twice the size it was when I went down."

"I've been looking at it, and I don't like it," said Mr. Linton.

"It's smoke, I'm positive, and too near Billabong and the Creek to be comfortable. I think we'll make tracks for home, Wally. Have you seen Murty anywhere?"

As if in answer, Mr. O'Toole came running down the hill.

"I've been huntin' ye's everywhere," he panted. "There's a man just kem out from Cunjee lookin' for ye, sir--some one's tallyphoned in that there's a big gra.s.s fire comin' down on the Creek, an' 'twill be a miracle if it misses Billabong! I've told the men--they're off to get the horses."

Norah and Tommy had turned, with dismayed eyes.

"Will it be at our place, Murty?" Tommy asked.

"I dunno will it, Miss Tommy," the Irishman answered. "But as like as not 'twill miss it--or anyhow, we'll get there first, an' stop it doing much damage. Don't you worry your little head, now."

She looked up at him gratefully. Norah's hand was thrust through her arm.

"It may not be near the Creek at all, Tommy dear," she said.