"We'll have a look round the horses first, if you care to see them," said the trainer.
"That's just what I want," replied Glen. "I'm fond of horses. When I was a keeper on the fence old Ping was my only companion. I've got him in Sydney. He's the queerest horse out; you'd be amused at him. I don't suppose you'd consider him worth a fiver, but it would take a good many fivers to buy him."
"A bush horse, I suppose?"
"Yes, one of the best, a faithful old slave. We've been companions for many years."
"I like a man who's fond of horses. What a queer name—Ping."
"And he's a queer horse," laughed Glen.
They went round the stables. All the horses belonged to Craig Bellshaw; they were a fair lot as far as Glen could judge.
"That's Flash," said Ivor, pointing to a good-looking chestnut. "He's rather smart."
Glen eyed him over and came to the conclusion he was the best he had seen so far. In the next box was Barellan. The brown horse looked well. He was full of muscle, hard and clean.
As they entered his box he turned and looked at them. When he saw the trainer he seemed quite contented, knowing everything was all right when he was there.