"Look at Barellan!" yelled a man standing near him.
Glen looked, his eyes glued on the sky-blue jacket. It was this which had caused the gasp of surprise. Barellan was going great guns, and passing horse after horse in a remarkable manner. His name was shouted over the course, far and wide.
CHAPTER XXVII
WHAT A FINISH!
What looked like a hopeless position was turned into a promising situation as Barellan came up the course at a tremendous pace. It was a thrilling sight, watching the sky-blue jacket forging ahead, and Glen Leigh's pulses beat rapidly. His body quivered as it had never done before as he watched Barellan galloping the field to a standstill. The shouting was tremendous. The noise deafening. Barellan's name echoed over the course. Smack, on Roland, cast a hasty glance back and caught sight of the blue on the outside. Barellan had "dropped from the clouds." It was now or never. If he caught Isaac he might win. He raised his whip, shaking it at the favourite. The gallant Caulfield Cup winner responded gamely and was soon at the Derby winner's quarters. In another moment he crept up, drawing level, and there was a rare set-to for the advantage.
Nicholl watched the leading pair. A smile flickered across his face. They were playing into his hands, wearing each other down. The struggle must tell, and there was still a furlong to go. Almost level with Barellan were Rosehill and Out Back, the last named still going well. When Barellan forged ahead and left them there was a terrific yell. Glen Leigh dropped his glasses in his excitement. A man picked them up, handing them to him, saying with a smile, "I expect you're on Barellan."
"I drew him in the sweep," said Glen.
The man stared at him, then said, "And you stand a good chance of winning. Lucky fellow, you are."