Nick Gerard showed Glen Bellshaw's letter, accepting his challenge, and asked him what he thought about it.
"I'll ride anything he cares to put into the ring," replied Glen. "He's got some horses at Mintaro that are terrible savages, almost mad, but I'll try and win your money, Nick. I'd like to beat him."
"Very well, then I'll accept his offer and withdraw the notice. He'll find you enough to do, I expect," said Nick smiling.
"He will, you can depend upon that. He's pretty certain he can find something that will throw me, or he'd not have accepted," answered Glen.
"Yes, the show goes back to Sydney on Monday."
"Capital; there'll be an exciting struggle. I suppose there's no doubt Bellshaw will play fair?"
"I don't see how he can help it. He'll pick out a nasty brute for me to ride, but that's part of the game," said Glen.
On all sides Glen was congratulated on winning first prize in the sweep. He was inundated with letters from all sorts of people, anxious to negotiate loans for the most part, others who wished to recommend safe investments. Land agents offered him ideal residences, owners of horses placed prices on their animals for him; charities solicited him, women wrote saying they were quite willing to consider him as a husband if he wanted a wife.
Glen laughed at them all. He placed his money in the bank and went on his way contented.
When Bellshaw arrived at Mintaro unexpectedly he explained what he wanted--the worst horse that could be found, a savage, quite ready to kill and tear a man to pieces.
His new overseer, Sam Wimpole, he had appointed when Garry Backham left; he was a man of his master's stamp, cruel, unscrupulous. Already the hands hated him; more than one had threatened to do for him.
Bellshaw explained what he wanted, then added, "If you can find me a horse that will throw him I'll give you a hundred pounds. I want to win the wager. I want to see him injured for life, or better still, killed outright. Do you understand?"
Wimpole grinned. He understood. He knew the sort of horse. There was one at Five Rocks, ten times worse than The Savage. It would be risky catching him and taking him to Sydney, but once there he'd bet any money Leigh couldn't sit on him five minutes. It was more than likely the brute would kill him. It was a big powerful brown stallion, as big as old Tear'em, and worse tempered. He should say he was seven or eight years old and had never been handled.