The Wide World Magazine, Vol. 22, No. 128, November, 1908

In the red‑sand plains of 1870s South Australia a fledgling town stages its first horse race. The narrator, an experienced rider, describes spiky needle‑bush, distant acacia and a mile‑and‑a‑quarter oval surrounded by two hundred rough men, a few women, children and barking dogs. A makeshift kerosene bell rings, and the crowd—gamblers, itinerant jockeys and even petty thieves—turns the meeting into a brief, noisy carnival. Hopes and wagers already cling to a single unlikely contender.

The barmaid’s steeplechase becomes the story’s pulse: the town publican has quietly ‘hocussed’ his mare, hoping to beat a wandering rider on a trusted gelding named Pawnbroker. With a modest twenty‑five‑pound stake, accusations fly when the mare is found mysteriously disabled among the ti‑trees. The narrator promises vivid snapshots of frantic jumps, roaring crowds and uneasy alliances that surface as fortunes hang in the balance. Listeners get a front‑row feel for a raw bush meeting where sport and superstition collide.