is killed or stunned; if he is, they dispose of any jewellery he may have
about him; they have been known almost to tear a finger off in their
endeavours to secure a ring. The ambulance clatters up at a canter,
the poor rider is pushed in out of sight, and the ladies in the stand
say how unlucky they are -- that brute of a horse falling
after they backed him. A wolfish-eyed man in the Leger-stand shouts
to a wolfish-eyed pal, "Bill, I believe that jock was killed
when the chestnut fell," and Bill replies, "Yes, damn him,
I had five bob on him." And the rider, gasping like a crushed chicken,
is carried into the casualty-room and laid on a little stretcher,
while outside the window the bookmakers are roaring "Four to one bar one,"
and the racing is going on merrily as ever.

These remarks serve to introduce one of the fraternity
who may be considered as typical of all. He was a small, wiry,
hard-featured fellow, the son of a stockman on a big cattle-station,
and began life as a horse-breaker; he was naturally a horseman,
able and 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.