Sure of the place money! In another second Barellan looked all over a winner. Roland, hard ridden, held his own. Isaac was only half a length off, the three together, with Out Back on the Derby winner's quarters. What a fight, and what a great compliment to the handicapper, for behind the leading four came a cluster of six, not two lengths away.
Bill Bigs and Jim were well nigh frantic. Their hats were off. They yelled, "Barellan," until they were hoarse.
Ivor Hadwin turned pale. The strain was almost more than he could bear. If, if only Barellan got his head in front as they passed the judge's box.
"He will. He'll win," almost shouted the trainer, who had to give way under the pressure. His shouts acted like a safety valve.
Barellan was head and head with Isaac, Roland half a length to the good, and the winning post a few yards away.
Luke Nicholl, for the first time, raised his whip. He was on the outside and his right arm was free.
One cut, another, a third, not too sharp, just sufficient to sting, to give Barellan a reminder.
The effect was astounding. Barellan, acting under the unexpected, went forward with a final rush. His speed was so great that he caught up to the favourite in two strides; his head shot out, his nostrils red and wide, his eyes glared, his nose, then half a head, was in front; a fraction of a second's suspense, then he claimed a head advantage, then half a neck, a neck, and when this was realised the stands seemed to shake with the deafening noise. It was marvellous. Rounding the bend Barellan had fallen back a dozen lengths. His case seemed hopeless. He had made up all the lost ground in the straight, and now he had his neck in front of all the runners.
Roland made a desperate effort, reducing the distance to half a neck again. Isaac drew up, so did Out Back. The four horses were all together.
Glen Leigh looked, and looked. He had a dim vision of blue, pink, black, white, red, orange, mixed together. Was the blue in front? He thought so. How he hoped no one else knew.