HOME ON THE RANGE

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 62, Issue 88, 24 January 1942, Page 7

HOME ON THE RANGE

By BENTLEY RIDGE. (Copyright).

CHAPTER XVIII. MRS HENTY’S PLIGHT. In the second channel the water ran very deep, the current was strong, it swept them down stream, the bundle of clothes fell from Myrle’s head, and she only just managed to grab it and lodge it in the fork of the willow branch. Evelyn began to choke and splutter. It seemed for a moment that everything was out of contrl, tl*e branch was leaping about, the water swept tl#em along at a furious pace, Evelyn was screaming. Then with a gasp of relief Myrle felt the shingle under her feet. She staggered against the current, hauling Evelyn into quieter water, managed to snatch their clothes as the branch was whirled away. In another minute they stood gasping and dripping on dry land.

“They won’t be able to bring a car up here, again,” said Myrle as they climbed from the river bed in wet and clammy clothing. They found that the country had been torn and jumbled by the earthquake almost out of recognition. The shapes of some of the nearer hills were completely altered. The road would run for twenty yards, then break and drop several feet. In one place they came to a great chasm running along it for a hundred yards, in some places six feet wide, and if undiscoverable depth. “I don’t like it,” said Evelyn, “It makes me think the ground might go like that underneath us.” But she didn’t falter. She kept bravely on, though they skirted the monstrous crack as widely as they could.

“Thank goodness it’s a warm day,” said Myrle. “I hope you won’t catch cold.”

“What about you—you might catch cold,” replied Evelyn. But as they pushed on, mile after mile into the wilderness, there was a greater dread for Evelyn in Myrle’s mind. Supposing the Henty’s cottage had been destroyed) supposing Mrs Henty had been killed or injured, supposing they met some horrible sight? “Will Daddy know where I am?” said Evelyn, suddenly. “I don’t know, my dear. But I couldn’t have left you behind.”

“‘I wouldnt have stayed, anyhow.” Evelyn even showed a trace of perkiness.

It weighed on Myrle’s mind; whether she had done the right thing. Tellforth would come back from town, and find Evelyn gone. That is—if Tellfortli did come back from town. And her parents, too —Rex —all of them! Suddenly it occurred to her that a tidal wave might have swept the plains; tidal waves came with earthquakes. A cold moisture broke out on her forehead, and the palms of her hands. The ground marked her thought by trembling suddenly, the earth muttering with an angry, ominous sound. This sick fear that seized one was a primeval, animal thing, Myrle thought. She forced her lips into a smile, as she took Evelyn’s hand to hurry her on; not knowing what fantastic sight might meet their eyes round every bend in the road. At last they came to where they could see the gum trees in which the Henty’s house stood, a mile away on the road.

Myrle strained her eyes. The trees were there presumably the house still stood. There was no sign of Mrs Henty. Footsore as they were, she and Evelyn ran the better part of the last mile. At the gate Myrle said to Evelyn: “Wait here!” Breathless with dread, she ran through the gate of the little square cotage among the trees. The chimney was down, the house seemed to have pitched sideways, leaning drunkenly. A dog ran round from the back, barked at her and then howled. “Mrs Henty! Mi’s Henty!” Myrle called at the doorway. The tossed chaos of the furniture inside gave back no answer. She darted round to the back. A voice spoke to her from the side verandah. Mrs Henty, lying on a blanket there, rose to her feet: “Oh, Miss Daintry Miss. Daintry! Thank God someone’s come!”

“What is it —are you hurt?” cried Myrle. “No, I’m all right, it ain’t that —it’s Just —!” Myrle stood stock still, faced by a situation even more overwhelming, more thoroughly outside her experience, than a major earthquake and a hridgeless river. A CHILD IS BORN. « “I wish my man would come,” Mrs Henty said, feverishly. “I’d have thought he’d have been here before now.” “He couldn’t possibly' have got through so soon,” Myrle assured her. “The road is probably blocked for forty miles, or more.” It was late that night, and they were four in the tent Myrle had found in the Henty’s shed, and pitched in the garden; Myrle and Evelyn and Mrs Henty, and a young Henty not three hours old.

i Every now and again the earth would tremble, and a low rumble would come muttering across the dark country. The earth tremor was still persisting, but the petulant scream of the baby was a reassuring sound. “If they cry it means they’re all right,” said Myrle. She was in terror lest she might not have done all she could. Little Henty had come too early into the world. Somewhere she had heard that in that case a baby should be wrapped in cotton wool, soaked in olive oil. There was no olive oil, but there was lard to be rescued from where it had been thrown on the kitchen floor, and but-ter-muslin Mrs Henty used for making cheese, Myrle had swathed the baby j until he looked like a small cocoon.

He was warm enough in his mother’s arms on a mattress Myrle had dragged from the house. The night was hot and close. Nothing more could be done.

“I wish I wasn’t so scared,” said Mrs Henty, softly. “Someone will come to-morrow,” replied Myrle. “We must try to sleep.”

Evelyn, even her interest in the baby exhausted, had fallen asleep. But now it was all over, Myrle felt ill. She lay on her blanket on the hard ground and trembled. Her head was a jumble of the thousand and one things she had done, the makeshift devices to which her limited knowledge had prompted her. Groping for things in the wreckage of the house; lighting a fire outside to boil water; hastening to and fro in an agony of anxiety. “You’re shaking like anything,” said Mrs Henty, beside her in the dark. “I know I anv I’ll be all right.” In the middle of the night a wind sprang up so suddenly in the stillness that when the first gust struck the tent Myrle was seized with terror. What did it mean? What new horror was this? But the wind eased and blew steadily and gently; it was only the wellknown nor-wester. She snatched a little sleep, only to be wakened by the ground lurching under her body, a cry of fear from Evelyn, and an uneasy rattle from the house behind them. Then everything was still again. The sky was grey in the tent flap. Thank God! —the morning at last! “Is he all right?” Myrle asked Mrs Henty, anxiously. Mrs Henty said he seemed to be just the same.

(To be continued.)