The mare closed up rapidly. At the distance they were side by side again, the whip on the black horse going like a flail.
It was a touch-and-go, both horses were all out, there did not seem to be a pin to choose between them; and if the mare won by half a length, it might have been noted by a critical looker-on that the rider of the black horse had ceased work just as the post was neared.
Mick was proud of his victory, but overwhelmed with apprehension at the distressed and sweaty condition of the mare.
“I shall catch it if the old man sees her again to-day!” he exclaimed, as he pocketed his two half-crowns.
“You had best groom her down, and walk her about quietly,” said Amos Clark. “She’ll be as right as rain in an hour or two.”
Mr. Clark suddenly remembered that he had an engagement in Sydney that evening that must be kept, so that really he should not have time that day to go land-hunting and catch the down train. So retiring to the house he hastily took his leave of Mrs. Wigway and Mick, and jumping in the sulky, was quickly lost to sight on the track through the box flat.
* * * * *
Mr. Clark, as he drove quietly towards Richmond and the stable of his own horse, had much matter for reflection, so that he hardly said a word to his young companion all the way.
Clearly they were a match-pair for speed as nearly as one could choose. The mare was not in full training, it was true; neither was the black horse, and it was a fair inference that what would improve one would improve the other. His lad said he might have won by a head, and he believed he might, but what was that to stake fortune and the only girl in the world on? He might win, of course, always provided they had the same weight; and then, again, a mare was likely to get a better show with the handicapper. Still, he might win.
But then again he might lose; there was no kind of certainty. And he quite agreed with Soft Sam, that it was only mugs that trusted to chance at racing.