HOME ON THERANGE

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 62, Issue 89, 26 January 1942, Page 6

HOME ON THERANGE

By BENTLEY RIDGE. (Copyright).

CHAPTER XIV. HOPED TO SEE SOMEONE COMING Myrle went out into the dim light. The morning star burned bright and steadily; the unalterable sky seemed to belie the uneasiness of the earth. “Someone is sure to come soon,” thought Myrle, doggedly. She lighted a fire with pine branches; water had to be fetched from the creek below the house in an old petrol tin, as the pump produced only a. trickle of mud. Evelyn soon joined her. “I slept practically all night.” “I expect you must have been quite worn out,”

“Will Daddy come soon?” Evelyn wanted to know. ®

“I expect so,” said Myrle. “Joe will be here soon; too, I expect. I thought they might get through last night.” She spoke with cheerful certainty? but was really far from certain. Why had not Joe come last night? He must have read the note on his door if he had gone back to the homestead. He or some other of the men would have surely come at once. They had horses —it would not have taken them long; surely if the river had not deterred her, it would not stop them. She thrust aside her anxiety. The first thing to be thought of was food for Evelyn and Mrs Henty. The cow was lowing disconsolately in the paddock.

“I can’t milk her,” said Myrle in dismay. The men had done the milking at “Petersdown.” “I can!” cried Evelyn. She was overjoyed at being able to display her ability. The roof of the cow bale had collapsed, and they had to milk the cow in the open meadow, with Myrle holding her head. After much kicking and some spilt milk, she yielded them about a quart in the bottom of a petrol tin. On the previous day they had finished the half loaf Myrle had rescued from the ruins of Mrs Henty’s smashed bread bin. But there was meat in the safe, which still clung miraculously to the wall of the shed. “I had a batch of loaves in the oven when the quake came,” Mrs Henty said. “But I don’t suppose you’ll find much of them left.”

Myrle picked her way over the overthrown furniture, some broken crockery and a pool of soup, and found the oven intact. Six loaves, rather pale, but undamaged, met her thankful eyes.

She carried them all out and stored them in the meat safe.

Soon Mrs Henty was propped up on her pillows in the tent, drinking tea and eating bread and butter with a good appetite. “How do you feel?” asked Myrle anxiously. “Not so bad,” said Mrs Henty. “Whenever there’s a shake I feel a bit sick, though. I wish my man would come.”

“He’ll be here soon,” said Myrle. She made Mrs Henty wait until the sun was well up and the day was warm before they attended to the baby. He seemed alive enough, though he did not cry, and seemed inclined to wish merely to sleep.—Myrle, trembling in her efforts to hurry, soon had him back under the blankets again.

Evelyn watched the road. The sun climbed higher. The road remained empty. Human life other than their own seemed to belong to some former existence.

Myrle, though she was painfully restless, knew that the only thing to do was to wait. She could not leave the others alone while she went away to look for help, though the subsiding tremors of the earth came less often, every half hour or so, instead of every few minutes.

At noon they were still alone. Mrs Henty, who had borne up so well, was feeling worse and began to cry. “Why hasn’t Jack come? Something’s happened to him —I know it has! He’s been killed down in Christchurch ! ”

Myrle did her best to cheer her, got them some cold meat and bread, and gave Mrs Henty some milk.

“I’m going to walk to the bridge,” she said. “I might see someone in the ‘Petersdown’ direction.”

“You won’t go further will you?” said Mrs Henty, instinctively clutching her baby with a look of dread. “Can I come?” said Evelyn turning pale.

Myrle realised then how completely her presence sustained them. “No, Evelyn you stay here and look after Mrs Henty. I won’t be long. I promise I won’t go far.” They looked at her uneasily. She set off on the tossed cracked road. Out alone in the, empty tussockland she was filled with fears, too nearly rational to be suppressed. “Is this the end of the world? Is it possible that the rest of New Zealand has been destroyed? Are we the only ones left alive?”

Her lips, for some reason, were dry and swollen.

The sun shone, the broom ' still flourished by the roadside, the day was bright with a kind of cruel mockery. At" every turn of the road she hoped to see someone coming. But in all the vast country there was not a sign of life, except for a few sheep grazing on the rugged hillsides. (To bo continued.)