The Sydney horses were first and second, the diggers’ favourite third; but old Rainbow, lying well up, was coming through the ruck hard held and looking full of running. They passed close by us. What a sight it is to see a dozen blood horses in top condition come past you like a flash of lightning! How their hoofs thunder on the level turf! How the jockeys’ silk jackets rustle in the wind they make! How muscle and sinew strain as they pretty near fly through the air! No wonder us young fellows, and the girls, too, feel it’s worth a year of their lives to go to a good race. Yes, and will to the world’s end. “Oh you darling Rainbow!” I heard Aileen say. “Are you going to win this race and triumph over all these grand horses? What a sight it will be! I didn’t think I could have cared for a race so much.”

It didn’t seem hardly any time before they were half-way round again, and the struggle was on, in good downright earnest. One of the Sydney horses began to shake his tail. The other still kept the lead. Then the Turon favourite—a real game pebble of a little horse—began to show up.

“Hotspur, Hotspur! No, Bronzewing has it—Bronzewing. It’s Bronzewing’s race. Turon for ever!” the crowd kept yelling.

“Oh! look at Rainbow!” says Aileen. And just then, at the turn, old Jacob sat down on him. The old horse challenged Bronzewing,’ passed him, and collared Hotspur. “Darkie! Darkie!” shouts every body. “No! Hotspur—Darkie’s coming—Darkie—Darkie! I tell yer Darkie.” And as old Jacob made one last effort, and landed him a winner by a clear head, there was a roar went up from the whole crowd that might have been heard at Nulla Mountain.

Starlight jumps off the drag and leads the old horse into the weighing yard. The steward says “Dismount.” No fear of old Jacob getting down before he heard that. He takes his saddle in his lap and gets into the scales. “Weight,” says the clerk. Then the old fellow mounts and rides past the judge’s box. “I declare Mr. Benton’s horse Darkie to be the winner of the Turon Grand Handicap, Bronzewing second horse, Hotspur third,” says he.

Well, there was great cheering and hollering, though none knew exactly whose horse he was or anything about him; but an Australian crowd always like to see the best horse win—and they like fair play—so Darkie was cheered over and over again, and old Jacob, too.