FIRES.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 272, 21 December 1914, Page 11

FIRES.

Flame of fire was the poet's desire: The thinker found that life -was fire. —Robert Bridges. ; "If it didn't seem impossible I'd sayit was getting hotter, Sheila O 'Donnell Said, with a wan crossness. Her sister laughed. rt That's because you don't know the country. About imid-day you feel you 'll die, and then 'after 4 all you 're afraid of is that ybu iwon't—it's the time I hate,. because 'every atom of the air seems used up." ; They were riding home across the plains, with the sun shining,redly jdown upon them through the dense smoke haze that blotted out the horizon line on all sides. Not a tree broke the monotony of the sea of grass burnt to a uniform shade of drab in the sumher heat which stretched away on all sides until it merged into the grey veil of smoke. Mrs Tregellas had ridden across to see a sick neighbour in the early morning, and her sister had insisted upon going with her. "I'll like the ride even if I die of heat, Clo," she saidj "besides, when Jack's away it's my duty to look after you. I wouldn't hear of you going all that way across paddocks and snakes and things by yourself." But the ride had told on Sheila. In her home in the south when they went riding it was a gentle canter for a few miles or so, quite different to this pilgrimage across melon-holey country. And in her heart of hearts! she knew she was disappointed that Flint Dawson had not run across them since their socalled short cut took them across his land. It had hardly been worth it, she reflected, for her head ached, unaccustomed as she was to hot suns; some' thing alien and remote in this wide land smote her, and she felt a sudden heartsick longing for the small two-railed fenced paddocks of her homeland, and the shaded clumps of box-trees. "Do pull up for a few minutes, Clo," she begged, "I've got a stitch in my side like a dozen electric batteries, and it won't matter if we 're a bit late back, will it?" Mrs Tregellas laughed, and pulled up. I'm afraid you're fearfully tired. I used to nearly die when I first came up, and Jack took me out riding; one gets used to anything. I'll keep you in bed to-morrow, or else you'll go back looking like a ghost." They pulled up; the horses rubbed their sweating heads against their forelegs with every appearance of satisfaction, and shook themselves. Suddenly, Sheila sniffed, and then leaned forward, and put her hand on her sister's. "Clo," she said, intensely, "I can smell burning. I knew it was hotter." Glodagh looked back. The veil of smoke was denser and larger, almost reddish in colour, then she noticed some fuie particles of black powdery threads flying past her, and knew it for burnt grass. She jerked up her horse's head. '' There's a fire coming in somewhere; •we'll have to ride hard." They galloped along the sheep track, the dry grass crackling about the horses' feet. The heat was getting greater, and sometimes Clodagh thought she could hear the roading of flames behind the thick wall of smoke. She reproached herself bitterly that she had not noticed how dense the smoke was before, but so often they had been closed in by smoke that she had grown used to it. For weeks everyone had been saying there were fires to the west,

and though it was very terrible, still worrying did no good, and she had not been* uneasy. Still there was plenty of time, but she must tell them at the homestead as soon as possible. "We're not so very far from our first gate," she called cheerfully to Sheila. "It nothing. We'll only have to go a bit faster." Then, far ahead, she saw a horseman galloping towards them, and almost before Sheila did, she recognised Flint Dawson. He was very much in earnest, and the perspiration was beaded on his dust-covered face. He had no time for greeting, but went straight to the point. ' ' We 'll have to go to the watercourse, it's the only chance," he said. "Get all you can out of the horses. There's a crossfire coming in from Garrah like blazes. Can't understand it."

"How did you know where we were?" Clodagh questioned as they galloped along. She had to shout to be heard, and the pace they were going at created a stronger wind, which blew her fine dark hair about her face and neck.

'' I went to the house. They 'phoned me from the Noona out-station there was a big fire coming across and travelling pretty fast, so I lost no time going over. The men have gone to try and meet it at the Ten Mile, and I came to meet you." Even then it. did not flash upon Clodagh there was danger. She had lived in the north-west three years now—ever since she had married —and she had heard of fires constantly. The first year she was there it had been a drought, and there had been no grass to burn. Last year the men had gone out several nights, and come in later on during the day with hair singed and faces as black as nigger minstrels with the smoke and burnt grass; but it had never really come close to her —it would be all right; but Sheila read their danger more truly. She looked at Dawson, and saw he was anxious. Every now and then he looked over his shoulder, •and involuntarily she did the same, and narrowly' escaped crying out, for the. smoke was speeding after them —a grisly forerunner of the leaping, crackling of the flames behind. The heat seemed to cut her face.

"Make 'em go faster," he said shortly. Clodagh carried no whip, and he gave the bay she rode a sharp cut over the quarter, which made him dart out into the lead. He jerked a word to Sheila, "Give the mare her head; don't spare the pace"; but with a sinking of the heart she noticed that his eyes were on Clodagh. She seemed merely a puppet riding with them. Before them she saw a distant line of trees, like shadow shapes in the smoke that wrapped them behind and before. This must be the watercourse they talked about; this/was where he meant them to make for, then, and as she looked an uncontrollable cry came from her, for Clodagh's horse put his foot down a hole concealed in the grass and fell, flinging her from the saddle out on the plain. She had the feeling that she was looking on some vivid moving pie- ! ture, for almost instantaneously it j seemed Dawson had checked his horse ! and was on the ground beside her sister, lifting her to her feet. Instinctively she checked Her horse; calling her sister's name. Dawson turned toward her, with Clodagh clinging dazedly to "his shoulder.

' * Bide on at once to those trees,'' he shouted, pointing. "Go on! I'll see after your sister "';■ and she went, for something in his voice was meant to be obeyed. . . j She saw him lift Clodagh to the saddle and spring into his own; saw him goading the horses on, while, one hand held the half-unconscious woman in the" saddle. Then she looked no more, but rode for the timber. The heat seemed to suffocate her, he smoke irritated eyes and nostrils; that terrifying, indescribable sound of rushing flames could be heard, the sharp crackle of fire licking up miles of grass. The next few minutes were a confused medley of sounds and sensations. She knev Dawson was beside her, directing her, flogging her mare; she knew thafc the need of the moment had revived Clodagh, who was sitting up riding her horse for all she could, and, most absurd of all, she was humming, which, Sheila remembered, was a way she had always had when she was excited. They reached the trees and dismounted, and there came the breathless, strenuous moments Of hauling and flogging the horses down the almost perpendicular banks that the flood rains had cut through the black soil. With a grip and a jerk that had almost dislocated her shoulder, Dawson had dropped : her down beside Clodagh at a spot where the, rush of water had tunnelled a cave-like hole in the undermined bank-—and then the fire was upon them! It roared and crackled lip the green trees with a hissing sound; it swept the banks above their heads; the flames seemed to be all about them, as if they were breathing fire, for the scorching air hurt the membrane of their nostrils and throats. There came the frightened scream of the horses, the clatter of hoofs, Dawson's savage command to his old camp horse to lie down, and the sickening smell .of. scorched hair. She covered her face with; her hands, and prayed that it might soon be over, and that the bank might fall and entomb them—anything rather than those fierce, leaping tongues of red flame should wrap them about. Dawson had torn.out a saddle-cloth earlier, and flung it to her to put over her head and shoulders, and, he stood with his coat closely wrapped about Clodagh's head, his arms pressing her against the bank, his body shielding her from the scorching heat. Her fall had unnerved her, and she was Sobbing" like a man who has been struck by a bullet, and he spoke her name over and over again, with his arms crushed about her. Above their heads the flames roared and cracked, and every how and then portions of blazing branches crashed down hissing to the pools of weed-clogged, tainted water that yet lay in the hollows of caked mud in the river bed.

: They had forgotten the dry-lipped woman beside them in the zone of fire. The danger that,, had threatened the women he loved and whom he held in his arms had swept away everything else from Dawson's horizon; he had realised for months that he loved this dark slim woman, but that she should love him, cling to him, blotted out every other thought from his mind; it was his hour. He murmured the little broken incoherent things a man does when he is stirred from the depths, he was shaking with the fire within him, his arms pulsed with a strength that coxild have crushed her there, and joyed in it, knowing she was his alone. Sheila shut her eyes that smarted and ached with heat and smoke; she felt that the lump in her throat must burst or it would choke her. The fire seemed to have unleashed all the great primal emotions, for she knew at the moment when she had seen without all doubt that Dawson loved her that she had hated her sister with all her strength. It came to her with a rush ' how it had always been Clodagh who had won everything in life; without effort she

had always plucked the fruit Sheila.desired. She remembered a particular prize at school which she had greatly longed for and worked with all her strength to get. Clodagh, the younger by 18 months, had studied hard a few days before the examination, and with luck and a certain superficial brilliance, had managed to get the victory. She thought of how her train of men friends had always gravitated to Clodagh w<hen she appeared; many people had thought her the prettier of v the two; they said Clodagh was .too ..dark, arid her nose a little top long, but that did not alter the facts. : "Way back in the .beginning, big, handsome, placid-Jack Tregak las had; met hec at a dance, and asked if he miglit call. Afterwards; he had called many times; then Clodagh came home from visiting some friends, and Jack had married her. ■ Sheila had not been really in love with him, but she had made up her mind to marry him if he asked her, because he was of the type that makes a satisfactory husband, provided the woman does not exact subtlety for subtlety. In his big impassive way he had a fashion of carrying things to the conclusion he wanted, and Clodagh was young and impressionable, and easy to win. If she had not found the "love that is more than love'' she had been very comfortably happy. Sheila was visiting her at the station for the first time, and there she met Flint Dawson. She had never disguised from herself that she was staying on in the heat because of him. Like many highlystrung women, the quiet, strong kind of man appealed to her, though she divined he could be a brute on occasion. He had read and thought a great deal more than the average bushman, and she treasured all their talks on the verandah when Jack was busy with his accounts in the office and Clodagh drifting about. It had seemed to her that he sought her society with a real pleasure, and since she had given up searching for the impossible ideal she had given him her love without reservations —and he loved Clodagh. She could have laughed with the irony of it! The fire, carried by the wind, leapt across the dividing bank of the river. It swept away before them in a wall of ragged-edged flames, yellow and red, amber-streaked with blue, while the mounting clouds of brown smoke blotted out the red ball of sun sinking low in the sky —so little time had gone for so much to happen. There were more moments of choking heat as the flames swept before them, then the fierce onslaught of fire passed on, and the air seemed cool in comparison. Sheila felt as if it had burnt all her tears away for ever; apathetically she watched the plunging of the mare she had ridden, and that had been scorched and burnt by the searing heat. As a man struggling back to life, Dawson released Clodagh, who blindly tried to twist up her disordered hair with shaking hands. Sheila heard her whisper, "We must forget, we must never, never remember," and hen peeling lips twisted in a smile; it was like Clodagh, who had always thought life was amazingly simple —and how were they going to forget? Dawson did not answer. Looking at him, she wondered how anyone's face could change in such a little while, not being able to see her own. As she saw him putting on his coat, she noticed that his sleeve was burnt into holes in one or two places, and that the flesh was the angry colour of a new burn —they had, indeed, been through the fire. He turned to her, and their eyes met. With an unwilling admiration she

thought he was too large for the embarrassment that a smaller man might have felt at another looking at his great hour. "We'll be able to move soon, it's about passed," he said. "Yes," she agreed, "it's about—passed!"—B. Cecil Doyle in the "Australasian. "