Where was Barry Tuxford, the owner of Lucky Boy? This was a question freely asked, but no answer was forthcoming. During his visit to Sydney, Barry had somewhat astonished the mining speculators by the cleverness of his transactions, and on more than one occasion it had been a question of the biter being bitten.
The popular opinion, amongst these men, was not very wide of the mark. They thought he had gone away to prospect, or to examine some new land up country, but they did not know he had sailed for Fremantle.
Had there been the slightest inkling as to Barry's destination, and the reason for his journey, there would have been a ferment of excitement, and probably a rush by the next boat to follow on his trail.
Abe Moss put the question straight to Jack.
"Where's Barry Tuxford?" he asked. "You may as well tell me, I am sure to find out in time."
"Then you can wait for that time," said Jack, "for you will gain no information from me."
"Precious clever you think yourselves, no doubt," growled Abe. "Did he tell you before he left that I was to be 'in the know' when your horses were having a try?"
"Our horses always try, no matter what yours may do," replied Jack.
Abe Moss laughed as he said—
"Oh, yes, we all know that. You are perfect saints in Western Australia, too good for this earth. Has Lucky Boy a chance to-day?" he asked, as though he had a perfect right to put the question.