nd willing to ride
anything that could carry him. He left the station to go with cattle on
the road, and having picked up a horse that showed pace, amused himself
by jumping over fences. Then he went to Wagga, entered the horse in a
steeplechase, rode him himself, won handsomely, sold the horse at a good
price to a Sydney buyer, and went down to ride it in his Sydney races.

In Sydney he did very well; he got a name as a fearless and clever
rider, and was offered several mounts on fine animals. So he pitched
his camp in Sydney, and became a fully-enrolled member of the worst
profession in the world. I had known him in the old days on the road,
and when I met him on the course one day I enquired how he liked the new
life.

"Well, it's a livin'," he said, "but it's no great shakes. They don't
give steeplechase-riders a chance in Sydney. There's very few races, and
the big sweepstakes keep horses out of the game."

"Do you get a fair share of the riding?" I asked.

"Oh, yes; I get as much as anybody. But there's a lot of 'em got a
notion I won't take hold of a horse when I'm told (i.e., pull him to
prevent him winning). Some of these days I'll take hold of a horse when
they don't expect it."

I smiled as I thought there was probably a sorry day in store for some
backer when the jockey "took hold" unexpectedly.

"Do you have to pull horses, then, to get employment?"

"Oh, well, it's this way," he said, rather apologetically, "if an owner
is badly treated by the handicapper, and is just giving his horse a run
to get weight off, then it's right enough to catch hold a bit. But when
a horse is favourite and the public are backing him it isn't right to
take hold of him then. _I_ would not do it." This was his whole code of
morals--not to pull a favourite; and he felt himself very superior to
the scoundrel who would pull favourites or outsiders indiscriminately.

"What do you get for riding?" I asked him.

"Well," he said, looking about uneasily, "we're supposed to get a
fiver for a losing mount and ten pounds if we win, but a lot of the
steeplechase-owners are what I call 'battlers'--men who have no money
and get along by owing everybody. They promise us all sorts of money if
we win, but they don't pay if we lose. I only got two pounds for that
last steeplechase."

"Two pounds!" I made a rapid calculation. He had ridden over eighteen
fences for two pounds--had chanced his life eighteen times at less than
half-a-crown