RING IN

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21289, 16 September 1932, Page 18

RING IN

Br E. MARY GURNEY

• To Bradley McKain came one, Coron, 'course detective. Coron's brow was furrowed, buli no more than was usual. If you had asked him why, he would probably have> told you that it was " all them jocks." Oddly enough, though the said " jocks" called him " Nosey," in the event of trouble they just naturally turned to him; and there was not a trainer either in his home town or elsewhere who would have dreamed of refusing to tell him anything they knew—within reason. , So now he came to Bradley McKain, because a certain gentleman of the name of Hayes, who had been disqualified for life, was tinaccountably missing; and with him his horse, The Piper, that was also under a life ban, and branded. The horses were going out for their morning exercise as Coron came to tho stables! Young Ben Fuzzard, on Autumn Gold, passed him in the gates and gave him disrespectful greeting. "Hullo, Nosey!"

"If I had my way," retorted Coron, 'dispassionately, " I'd suspend everyone of you jocks. For life." But . Benny Fuzzard only rode on, laughing derisively.

McKain, seated at his office table, looked up, scowling, as the detective lounged in. Coron, ignoring the scowl, made himself at home. He knew Bradley McKain. " Benny," he opined, without greeting, " is; the best kid you've had. He'll go far." ~ 1 "If you leave him alone!" snarled {McKain.

"Me?'' Coron was blandly innocent. *' Mack—where is Hayes ?" McKain merely increased his scowl, so Coron perched. himself on the edge of the table, and. swung his leg, while he watched the other roll a cigarette. " Cigarettes," he observed, judicially, f are a snare and a delusion. They're the first step on the downward path. Besides which they'll ruin your nerve and your digestion, and set a bad example to young Ben." McKain struck a match on the table leg, and lit his smoke before replying. " You'xe mighty interested in Ben, all of a sudden." " Ben," agreed Coron, lugubriously, "is •-'nice child. I hate to see him stewing in this sink. Mack, they tell me The Piper's dead." " Who tells you ?" x " Cochrane." Cochrane was Hayes Btud groom. " I was over last week. I branded the brute, you know. Cochrane showed me a pile of burnt bones in the creek' bed. Said it waa The Piper. Said he'd broken a leg." "Well?" McKain was at his dryest. " Well. You see, unless he'd deteriorated a whole lot, it wasn't The Piper." " Yeh " The question then arises," explained Coron, patiently," where is The Piper ?" Search me!" jibed McKain, " I'm not 8 'tec'!" " Heaven help us all if you were!" retorted Csron, piously. He waited for a cpme-back, but none being forth-coming he had., perforce to continue. "Very, well, Mack. I'll tell you the truth, the whole truth/and nothing but the truth. I been iway three, months. So The Piper may have been away three, months too. I went to Rosehill, and I saw a horse called 'Risky, purporting to be by No Risk, dam unknown. Risky had a scar where I • branded The Piper. I could swear to it's being Ths Piper, but I mightn't be able to prove it without corroborative evidence. They're sending Risky up here, to run in the Banyan Hurdles, and I want Ben to ride him. It'ull be easy enough for him to get the mount." " Ben " Ben rode The Piper." " I se<i." McKain considered it—negatived it definitely. " Sorry, but Ben is riding Autumn Gold." They eyed each other calculatingly. "And you won't let him off?" " No." " Why ?" . "McKai:a permitted his bleak face to lighten. • "I, too," he explained with gentle Xsarcasm. " Have the child's—er—morals afc> heart; and I refuse to let him get mixed up with anything—shady." Coron grinned, and went, as he had come without greeting, so without farewell. . . The driveway to the course was a moving kaleidoscope of cars, pedestrians and horses. A few yards ahead of Bradley McKain's shabby little runabout, Autumn Gold ► walked beside Dalgliesh's Otway, topweight for the Banyan Hurdles. Otway, on •the inside, was playing up dangerously, and Benny said: " Getty 'ull have a rough ride." . McKain grunted, and swore softly, as Otway cannoned into Autumn Gold, and knocked him into the roadway. There was a sudden stoppage all along the line of cars, and McKain jabbed at the brakes viciously, heedless of the protesting hoots behind. • " Why doesn't Dalgliesh put up a kid that can ride?" he snafled, wholly unjust, because he would not admit bis anxiety. Benny, realising it, forebore to reply. They moved on again, 'watching the horses. Otway was getting'more and more excited, and McKain swore again. " What the deuce he wants to ride alongside for; the young fool!" Otway reefed, reared, plunged and awung h.ird into Autumn Gold—sent him flying into' the roadway again, and a car knocked him headlong. Before they could pull up, the boy was underneath. "Heavens!'/ said Benny. He and McKain jumped from the car, and ran to where Autumn Gold lay thrashing in the roadway, bub they could do nothing. With it queer tigthening at his throat, Benny went to help the lad with Otway, / which was practically out of hand. When he got back, Autumn G'olcl was still, with the death glaze filming his beautiful eyes. There was a crowd, and innumerable . policemen. On the roadway, a plain-clothes man was. superintending the jacking up of the car under which the boy lay, still .now, and .quiet, as Autumn Gold was quiet. , Beside the horte, McKain, lean unci sombre, and more poker-faced than ever, was talking to a stout inspector, who was writing in a book. Behind them, the cars were piling into a traffic jam—disgorging their occupants, and adding them to the vast crowd" that was, despite all the •efforts oi; the police, growing to unwieldy proportiens.

Presently a little dishevelled figure forced it s way into the group around the dead horse; stood a mute minute, staring, and glanced across at Bennv.

" It was in the game," said Getty, gallantly, Jim Getty was the leading jockey, and Benny's best friend. " You'll touch your century first this season, Benny!" " Which just shows," said McKain, inconseqiently, " that ringing in is the easiest thing in the world." .Getty knelt beside the horse, and lifted the stiffening head. Then he looked at Benny. " I could have sworn it was Otway. Rotten luck. Ben."

" For Autumn Gold," agreed Benny, sombrely.

McKa:,n. moved away to where they iWere the boy from under the car. "Not dead." The St. John's man's voice r<>Sß reassuringly above the subdued murmur of the crowd, which, under the strenuous efforts of the police, was gradually dispersing. McKain and Fuzzard went back to the .car. and on up to the course. In four races, Benny and Getty were ;Rtill,neck and neck, with a win and a ijebond, making their totals for the season

A NEW ZEALAND STORY

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ninety-nine each; but somehow, Benny's heart was not in his work. Always, between him and his wins, came the thought of Autumn Gold lying stiff and stark where they had dragged him to the side of the toad. Autumn Gold which should have won the Banyan. ... "I'm sick!" said Getty to Fuzzard, in the jockey's room. " There wasn't a pin to choose between Autumn Gold and Otway; and now . . . Can't you get a mount, Ben?" Benny, struggling . into his overcoat, shook his head despondehtly. " Luck's yours. Getty; and. I hope you win."

" I shall," averred Getty, confidently. Benny went out, leaving him alone with a stranger —a tall, weedy youth, shifty-eyed and ill at ease. He eyed Getty uncertainly. "That Ben Fuzzard?" , Getty nodded. "Riding Autumn Gold, wasn't he?" Again Getty nodded. " Rotten luck." said the other. He sat down limply, and stared at Getty. " You're Getty—the Getty. Riding Otway, aren't you ?" " Yell. What's yours?" " Risky," said the other. " Ira sick! Sick!" "What way?" demanded Getty, sympathetically. "Every way!" The boy threw out his hands, dropping his whip. " Can't keep my weight down. Haven't had a decent feed for months." After which he fainted. GettY yelled from the door, and the stranger was removed to the ambulance room. "What a day!" said Getty, as Ben Fuzzard came in again. " W r hat a Government!" _ •Dalgliesh called impatiently, and he ran out, leaving Benny grinning faintly, in spite of his grief and disappointment. "He was going in search of McKain, when a bulky, bow-legged fellow stopped him. , " Hey! Fuzzard! Got a mount? " No," said Benny. «« Well—look here." The man hesitated, eyeing him doubtfully. "Im Taylortrainer of Toulmin's Risky. Risky s to win '' "If," countered Benny, distinctly, " you're meaning will I ride him, he 11 do his utmost! ' . The bulky fellow grunted, lowering. " That'ull suit me." Coron appeared in his mysterious way. " Ridin' Ben ?" Benny nodded. " J got the jacket off Garth, said Taylor, staring mistrustfully at Coron. " Wait while I get it." He disappeared lumberingly and Coron offered Benny a cigarette; watched speculatively, while Benny lit and smoked it. "Funny!" mused Cdron, "The wajr those cigarettes affect —um —er —Garth. " Garth?" ) "Garth. Chap you're ridin' instead of. •They make him sick. Sort of. " They're pretty foul," admitted Benny frankly. The suspicion that Coron, to further his own ends, might have doped a cigarette for the unfortunate jockey, did not occur to him. Taylor came back with the scarlet and yellow jacket, and scarlet cap, and Benny went off to the jockey's room. Coron hung round until the horses came into the birdcage. Watched until Taylor mounted Benny on the big, bright bay, Risky.* Watched the boy keenly as they paced round and round, lingered until they went out for their preliminary, and were lining up at the barrier. Then he went in search of McKain, who was closeted with the stewards. " Mack," said Coron, lounging in unceremoniously. " The Kid's ridin Risky. " Risky " From up North. Toulmin's Risky—with the scar." / . «' i' m _if he is!" shouted McKain explosively. " He's not having anything to do with a wrong 'un ! " " Now! now! " soothed Coron, maddeningly, " why all the excitement ? What if I don't like the scar on his neck ? Maybe it's prejudice, because I can't find out what, I want to find out about —people, and horses and things . . • "That's all right!" retorted McKam, bluntly. " But suppos'ng Ben rides that horse, and wins, and it's proved—you prove afterwards—the truth of what you think. 'They'll say he must have known " Look here, ' said Coron, suddenly earnest. " Tfiere's only one way I can prove it, Mack, and that's through young Fuzzard. It was Toulmin's bad luck that I happened to be through at Rosehill, and that I happen to be so familiar with The Piper; but all the same he hagn t a distinctive mark on him -that I could swear to." Garland, the chief steward, broke in impatiently. " What you're trying to say, I suppose," he suggested acidly, "is that someone is trying to ring in The Piper as this horse, Risky ? " " Sher-lock ! " agreed Coron. " You branded The Piper," Garland pointed out. * " I did," agreed Coron, " and this Risky has a scar." " Never mind your arguments! " interrupted McKain harshly. " They'll be starting." " They'll be pretty near home, by now! " amended Coron blandly. McKain did not answer. For a moment he sat staling blankly at the iow of eager faces round the table. Then he got up and went o.ut. Coron went after him. I can'L prove it, unless the kid speaks, Mack." " Possibly not, but others may. If this horse is The Piper, he has a fair chance of winning, if lie's,, any good at all over hurdles, and it's asking rather a lot to expect the kid to chuck away his chance of heading the list for the season." They went through the birdcage, to the course gates and stood there, watching the horses coming along the back. " I'm sorry I had to do it. Mack." "You are!" retorted McKain bitterly. The field was over the first flight of hurdles, and the four horses in the lead were making the pace a willing one. " That's Risky, out in front," said Coron. " As a matter of fact, it's Otway—green and saffron." R'ght—as usual." agreed Coron, unshakably bland. " Riskv is with the bunch —scarlet and yellow.' In silence they watched the field come round the bend. Gradually the bunch closed up, on all but Otway. Getty had fhe rails, and meant to stay there. It looked as if his only rivals were the grey mare Forget It, and the staunch little black, Chaos, which had run into second place every- start th : s season. The grey and black were half a length behind, fighting every inch of the way. Getty could hear Bancroft, on Chaos, gigcling as he alwavs giggled, as he encouraged his mount. Once round the home bend, Getty settled down to business, and Otway began (•) draw away from the field that was bunching, now hot on the heels of Forget It and Chaos, and he wished, as the big horse stretched out to b;s work, that Benny had been somewhere near, on Autumn Gold, disputing with him, the coveted position on the rails. Four lengths back, pocketed on the inside, Benny Fuzzard rode, fuming, because where he was, he could not get anything l ; ke the running out of his mount; muddled, because, while he knew it was impossible, he was positive that he had ridden Risky before. Rounding the bend he caught a glimpse of Getty's green cap, well in the lead, and grnned ruefully. Getty would land his century all right—possibly one over—for, bar accidents, Sweet By-and By was a sure thing for the last race. Ahead, Getty's green and saffron body seemed to hang for an instant in the air as Otway shot over the first flight of hurdles. To his right, the little black horse rose a head in fron* of the grey. Ahead of him, Long Lane and Scotch Girl rose I together, bumped, and went down. <

, 11 This," thought Benny "is the logical end to a rotten race!"

There was no time t<# pull up—no room to pull out, so Benny did the only thing there was to do—took hold of his mount, and rode him like one possessed. The top rail was smashed to matchwood. Under it, a sickening muddle of horse and man, squirmed and thrashed, but the bay never faltered. He wasted no effort in going up—three feet, probably, saw the peak of Irs leap—but shot out and along, with all the pace and power that was in him. Benny swore afterwards that he jumped all of thirty-five feet., but both Mack and Getty remained sceptical, and as he landed, Benny realised that he was out of the mess and the* pocket, five lengths, it is true, behind the leaders, but on a horse that was still full of running. And he made it. Over the second hurdles he caught Forget It, which was half a length behind Chaos, with Otway a good two lengths in the lead. There would be no getting through. It 'was outside or nothing. Benny pulled out and rode. Dimly he was conscious of the crazy shouting • from the lawns and grandstands. " Otway ! Otway ! Chaos! Forget It! " " You'ci better forget it!" said Benny to himself, " it's The Piper's going to win this! " But it was not The Piper they were yelling for, but—"Risky! Risky! Risky! Oh—ride him,..boy!" Getty, riding the race of his life, heard it, and laughed to himself./ "Ben! I might have known it! He'd bring a cocktail home! His whip came out, but Otway had made the running for the last half, and though he responded gamely, it was a Hash in the pan, and Risky crept up—jassed him—sailed home with a sportive j flick of his heels that filled Getty's mouth and eyes with dirt. Benny had trouble in stopping the horse, and Getty waited for him, chagrined, but glad, if he had to be beaten, to bo beaten by Benny Fuzzard. Benny rode back soberly. Risky—and The Piper ? The Piper—and Risky? The Piper had been disqualified for life —was dead —so Mack had told him. Yet, in that run down the straight, while tho crowd had yelled for Risky, Ben's own subconscious mind had been urging the Piper. The clerk of the course ranged alongside, and Getty fell back as they entered the birdcage. Taylor caught the bridle, and Benny loosened the reins, seeking for McKain. McKain wa« by the weighing room door, grey and silent and troubled, with Coron fidgeting beside him. Benny paused, with the saddle on his arm, and McKain's hand fell heavily on - his shoulder. " Great race, hoy," said McKain. Benny smiled fleetingly, but all he said was, " Wait Mack." In the weighing chair, his mind seethed. To voice his suspicion—or chance itclaim his century and his winning fee • • • 1 What would Mack think ? Would he call it straight ? He went outside, to find Mack still waiting there, silent and grey and troubled. Coron was talking to Taylor—ran his hand, suddenly, up Risky's neck, pushing the mane over, so that the disfiguring scar was exposed clearly to view. " Mack," said Benny, miserably, " it's a case for the stewards." " Sure 1 " Benny nodded. The stewards were all there. Benny had an uncomfortable feeling that they had been waiting, and, in a few minutes Coron came in with Taylor. Garland said. "Well, Fuzzard?" Benny glanced at McKain, seeking inspiration. Suppose they blamed him—suspended him ? " Mr. Garland," he said, slowly. " Can you tell me how Risky is bred, and his record ? " * " It's here somewhere," said Garland, flicking papers over impatiently. Coron spoke. " Sire —No Risk —dam unknown. Record —six starts, one win and two seconds." Garland appealed to Taylor. " Correct ? " " Absolutely." agreed Taylor, but he was uneasy. " You'd swear to it? " demanded Garland. Taylor nodded. "So that," said Benny, slowly. " 1 couldn't have ridden him t . . 1 " He glanced at McKain. " That's right," McKain reassured him. Garland was watching the jockey narrowly. Coron wandered to the w|ndow, and stood drumming on tho pane with his finger tips. "Yes?" It was McKain spoke again, in his dry even way, and the truth tumbled out of Benny. " But I have," said Benny, decidedly. " I rode—and won on him, three years ago." • "What, rot! " said Taylor, loudly. McKain looked up from rolling a cigarette. " When did you know, Beu ? " " Soon as I got on him," answered Benny confidently. " But I. couldn't place him until the run home—when they yelled for Risky." Benny stopped, and glanced round the circle. Did they believe him ? Garland spoke, answering his thought. " All right, Fuzzard. We know you're straight." "Thank ".on sir,*' sari Benny. "It's The .Piper." Taylor laughed harshly, and Coron turned from the window. " The ; Piper's dead," said Coron. Benny ignored him, and McKain asked dryly. " What makes you think it's The Tiper, Ben ? " " I don't think—l know. Coming down the straight, they yelled for Risky, and I said—' Yell all you like! But The Piper's winning this!'" " Crost your heart, and wish you may die?" demanded Coron, happily. Benny retorted disrespectfully. "Nosey fool!" said Benny.