The Sweep Winner

by Nat Gould

The time drew nearer. A quarter of an hour before—the struggle was to commence at nine—Sam Wimpole took out a small syringe from his waistcoat pocket, crept up to the horse's side, and quickly made an injection. Lion shivered, then gave a snort, and tried to grab Sam as he nipped back into safety.

Sam wished to be rid of the syringe. It had done its work, but he dare not throw it away, and he could not go outside; he placed it in his trousers pocket for the time being.

Lion was led into the ring by two men who had long poles strapped on each side of his bit. No one was to be in the ring when Leigh took the bridle in his hand and the poles were loosened and taken away. There was a breathless silence as the horse stood quivering; it was broken by a deafening cheer as Glen Leigh came in. Lion reared and plunged at the sound, but was held fast. Leigh came towards him, a heavy whip in his hand. He walked straight up to the horse, looking him in the eyes; at that moment he fancied there was something wrong with Lion, who seemed frenzied. His eyes glowed like live coals, his breath was hot, steaming; Glen felt it on his face. He undid the pole straps, made a signal to the men, who hastily drew them away and ran out of the ring, and sprang into the saddle before Lion was aware of his intention. Glen knew if he once got safely seated half the battle would be won. Luck favoured him in this respect.

The horse had never been mounted until this moment, and for a few seconds he seemed paralysed with fright at the strange experience. This did not last long. With a wicked bound he tried to get rid of his strange burden. It was a vain hope. Glen stuck to the saddle like a limpet to a rock. Lion was a far stronger horse than the Savage, and Wimpole had given him a drug that would increase his strength and endurance until the effect died away. Never had Glen Leigh been on such a horse. He knew Lion possessed tremendous strength. The strain on his arms was immense, also on the whole of his body.

Lion did not act like an ordinary buckjumper. He had his own plans of getting rid of his burden; they were quite original because they had been brought into play for the first time. He had a long reach, and whenever he tried to bite Glen's thigh he had to pull his legs back quickly. The horse showed no inclination to lie down, or to crush Glen against the posts. Without the slightest warning he set off on a furious gallop round and round the ring. After a dozen rounds he began bucking as no horse ever bucked before. Up and down he went like a rocking horse, then on all fours off the ground, his back arched to a point, all the saddle gear strained to bursting.

Glen felt the perspiration pouring off him. It was the hardest struggle of his life, but he intended winning. He would not be beaten.

Everybody in the vast audience watched the large clock as the fingers crept slowly on, the large hand gradually drawing nearer to the quarter-past. Bellshaw watched the struggle between man and horse with absorbing interest. He knew what had been done, and that the horse possessed demoniacal strength for the time being.

Mrs. Prevost, her face white, her hands clutching nervously, watched every movement in the ring; how she prayed for his safety, and for the clock to point to a quarter-past nine. Never had she undergone such an ordeal. It would be in her memory for the rest of her life. Supposing he were killed? The horse seemed like some evil beast possessed of devils. She almost shrieked as a mad plunge nearly unseated Leigh for the first time, but he was still there. By some marvellous power he stuck to the saddle and the battle went on.

Glen Leigh knew the horse did not lose strength; rather had he gained it during the last few minutes. It surprised him, but he had no time to think.

Lion stood on his forelegs, his head almost touching the ground, his hind quarters straight up in the air. In this horizontal position he twisted like an eel, trying to wriggle Glen on to his neck. He leaned right back until his body was level with the horse's, then changing his whip quickly, he hit backwards, bringing the heavy knob hard on the root of the tail. This was too much for Lion. He came down on all fours and Glen shot bolt upright. There was a tremendous cheer. It was a wonderful piece of riding.