There were some good bouts before the event of the evening took place, and when Ivor entered the ring he was loudly cheered. The trainer was pleased with his reception. He had not received much of the world's applause during his career.

The way he mounted The Savage augured well for his success. The horse appeared to know he had a man on his back who would give him "a good game." For a moment The Savage stood still, then suddenly he sprang straight into the air, all his feet off the ground, and his back arched.

Ivor had a severe wrench, but stuck to his seat. Round the ring the horse went, backing and fighting in his most savage mood.

Glen saw the horse was in a nasty temper and hoped the trainer would not be hurt. That he would retain his seat for ten minutes he thought impossible.

Ivor Hadwin made no empty boast when he said at one time he believed he rode as well as Glen Leigh. Considering the small amount of practice he had his seat was splendid, and for five minutes The Savage tried in vain to throw him. Glen, who was in the ring, encouraged him by frequent shouts.

Six minutes pa.s.sed and still Hadwin was in the saddle, but Glen fancied he saw signs that he was tiring. If this were so it was all up with his chance.

Again The Savage stood still, gathering his strength. His eyes rolled, his nostrils were extended and red. Foam came from his mouth, but his limbs were set, and there was no quivering. It was all determination, and no excitement.

Away he went again, round and round the ring, twisting and twirling, leaping sideways, banging Hadwin against the posts. Then he went to the centre of the ring, turned suddenly, galloped round at top speed. In a moment he stopped dead and springing into the air gave a terrific buck, squealing like a mad horse as he did so.

The trainer was tired. The struggle had been tremendous, and the last plunge proved too much for him. He was thrown clean out of the saddle, and fell with a thud. Remembering Glen's warning to get out of the ring as quickly as possible, he was scrambling to his feet, when The Savage rushing at him, knocked him down, and trampled him with his forefeet.

Glen Leigh sprang forward as soon as the trainer fell, and it was well he did. He arrived just in the nick of time, before any more serious injury than a few bruises was done. He seized The Savage by the bridle and pulled him back, unconsciously showing his great strength; there was a cheer as he held the brute in hand while the trainer left the ring.

Before The Savage had time to switch round Glen was in the saddle, and another tussle took place, but it was an easy task for the rider this time. The trainer had given the horse a severe dose, which had had due effect.

Glen dismounted and announced from the ring that a cheque for twenty-five pounds would be handed Ivor Hadwin for the splendid way he had handled The Savage; a roar of cheering greeted this generous offer.

There was one woman in the vast audience who watched Glen Leigh all the time he was in the ring. She was a dark, handsome, well dressed woman, with fine eyes, a good figure, rather inclined to be stout, and she evidently knew many people present. She had been several times, and had always given her whole attention to Glen's performance with The Savage.

This alone appeared to interest her.

She wished she knew him. She was about forty years of age, perhaps a year or two older, and her life had been a peculiar one. She had married at the age of eighteen, and her husband deserted her when she was twenty. At this time she went as a barmaid in one of the numerous private bars that then existed in Sydney. Some of these were veritable dens of vice, but she kept herself respectable for several years. When she was thirty she had saved sufficient money to take a small boarding-house at North Sh.o.r.e. Shortly afterwards she was introduced to Craig Bellshaw, and from North Sh.o.r.e she went to Macquarie Street; for the last year she had lived at Manley. She did not like Bellshaw, but he was useful to her and not ungenerous, and as he left her pretty much to herself she was fairly contented. She was one of those women who, given a better chance early in life, would probably have made good use of it.

She had plenty of confidence, boldness if you will, but she was not vicious; her life was irreproachable, except for Bellshaw's coming into it, and she lived quietly at Manley, with her maid, and a Chinaman cook, who was a perfect marvel at concocting curious and succulent dishes. Her name was Rosa Prevost, and her neighbours, although they did not quite understand her, found her affable, generous and hospitable. In fact Mrs.

Prevost was popular in her surroundings. She knew Ivor Hadwin, through Bellshaw, having been to the stables with him. If she wished to be introduced to Glen Leigh the trainer would oblige her, but she did not care to ask him; she was too proud.

Her house at Manley was frequented by several well-known people such as Jerry Makeshift, Tom Roslyn, and other journalists, and many actors and actresses, several of whom knew her past life, and how she had been treated in her young days.

She was destined to have her desire for an introduction to Glen Leigh fulfilled sooner than she expected.

CHAPTER XVII

JEALOUSY

"Yes, I know Glen Leigh--a most interesting man," said Jerry Makeshift.

He was at Sea View, Mrs. Prevost's house at Manley. She had invited him there with the purpose to find out something about the daring rider of The Savage.

"Tell me about him. I admire his riding," she said.

Jerry gave her a full account of Glen's career as far as he knew it. She had read "The Sketch," but he embellished what he had written there for her gratification.

"So he was a keeper of the fence," she said thoughtfully. "Fancy a man like that being exiled there. I wonder why he went?"

"A woman probably," said Jerry.

"That's always the way when a man banishes himself from society. It's always a woman who is the cause," she said.

"And don't you think nine times out of ten it is so?" he asked.

"No, the man is often more to blame than the woman. Take my case."

"Which is an exception," he said smiling.

"Will you bring him here? I should like to meet him. Do you think he would come?"

"I'll try. He's not a shy man, but he doesn't go out much. Are you anxious to know him?" asked Jerry.

"He interests me," she answered.

"Then I'll try and fix it up. Only promise me not to draw him into your clutches; you are so fascinating. Look at me, I worship you."

"Jerry, you're a humbug. You don't care a straw for anyone except yourself," she laughed.

"That's all you know. I have done some generous actions in my time, that it won't do to speak about; it would sound too much like blowing my own trumpet," he said.

Jerry had some difficulty in inducing Glen Leigh to go to Manley, but succeeded at last, and they went together.

"Who is Mrs. Prevost?" asked Glen.

Jerry explained as much as he thought proper. There was no occasion to mention Bellshaw. If his name cropped up in conversation it would not be his fault.

Mrs. Prevost was agitated. She almost wished she had not asked Jerry to bring him, and yet she was desirous of making Glen's acquaintance.

Already, before she knew him, he had a peculiar fascination for her. She felt angry because it was so. The feeling was quite new and strange; hitherto she had been cold and calculating. She knew all this would vanish where Glen Leigh was concerned.

They arrived before lunch, and when Glen saw Mrs. Prevost he was at once struck with her peculiar charm of manner. No sooner was he in her presence than all her doubts and agitation vanished, and she exerted herself to her utmost to please him.

Glen was quite willing to be pleased by this handsome woman, whose preference for him was already beginning to be marked.

Jerry smiled as he watched her. He knew her powers. No woman had ever gone so near to capturing him as she, but he had steeled himself against her. His career did not include a wife; he could not afford the luxury, he said.

It was a nice luncheon. Glen thoroughly enjoyed it, and complimented Mrs. Prevost on the possession of such an excellent cook.

"He's a Chinaman," she said smiling. "One of the despised heathens, but I have had him several years, and he has served me well. I found him."

"Found him!" exclaimed Glen.

"Yes. It's quite correct; strange though it seems."

"Where did you find him?"

"Some years ago when he was quite young. He lived with his uncle in Lower George Street. He offended the great man in some way, and he turned him out of the house. He was wandering about when I came along.

He spoke to me, pleaded hard for me to make him my servant. Strange, was it not? Something prompted me to take him in. I did, and have never regretted it. He appears to have one set purpose in life, to pay his uncle, Lin Soo, back in his own coin, and have his revenge. Most unchristian-like isn't it? But of course he's a heathen," she said laughing.