NOVEL

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 356, 5 March 1903, Page 2

NOVEL

CHAPTER 1.-(Continued.) Now the master of Kangarilla <*aa in no amiable mood as he watched the approach of the stranger. The knowledge of his blightrd pasturage and of the jdscimafion of hit floeka was ever present to his mind, sad the consequent loss fc> him, although it could not materially affect his tolveney, was sufficient to cause his grave nxiety. The ravellet had now entered in at the panels of the home paddock, and his identity had slowly intimated itself to the eye of tbe master rf the estate. With itlnetzsined appreciation Maclean exclaimed: 'By heaven if it's not the loafing scoundrel Sundown Bill. I'll teach him and all the snndowniag crew that Eaagarilla is no haven for their idle, useless persons. 'lf thou shalt not work, neither shalt thou eat.' is Scripture and sound common sense as well. At the hut meeting of the Pastoralists I moved a resolution to the effect that these idle vagabonds should not be eaoouraved fin their aimless wanderings by being housed and fed. and though my m - tion was not accepted I will, at any rate, give < ffect to ray own principles. I'll give Sundown Bill a reception that he won't forget. 1 Sundown BUI it really was. A typical Australian' sundowner,' one of tbe army of bash' dead-beats who roam yearly over vast areas of the country, at first, doubtless, capable workers, earnestly desirous of obtaining employment. Bat the sundowner is a product of the country; such being the effect of this free wandering life, in a genial climate and under an almost perpetually blue sky, that ere long the second stage in the career of tbe graduating sundowner is reached—that wherein he outwardly seeks for employment and inwardly supplicates htaven he may not find it. From this stage to the third and last the descent is easy, and there is no mistaking the professional susdownrr who has attained the decree of a mastar of the craft The mission of the fully fledged sundowner is to traverse th s country avowedly with no further aim or purpose than firmly and scornfully to decline, on all occasions, to accept proffered employment, and to live a precarious life by vagabondage and begging. To this class Sundown Bill belonged. He was a ipsstmaater of the order of professional landowners.

In appearance Sundown Bill, by which sobriquet be was familiarly known, was tall and gaunt. In age he was about fifty-four j bia skin was tanned by exposure to weather and aversion to water, aid his long, unkempt hair and beard wen fully intermix'd with grey. But Sundews Bill was by no means an ignorant person, and for bis knowledge of men and politics, and his ability as a raconteur, he was usually welcemea at the camp fir'-, where to the amusement, if not the edification of his listeners he discussed his eubj-cls and related lis experiences with a ftfl and ready flow of forcible colonial 'language.' Yet, withal. he was a useless parasite, regarded ts dangerous alike to the subctanca and the morals of the community—an ub productive being, who toiled not ncr did he ■pin. and, in truth, it may be added, neither was he arrayed in any particular glory. With 'swag' and'billy' slang ov r his left shoulder, and carrying his water bag in bia right hand, the bushman slowly approached, shewing unmistakable signs of exhaustion, and thus greeted the master a! EansfariUa. | T Good-day, Mr. Maclean; terribly hot' V N doubt,' came the uoßracious reply, ' but what brings you here f* 'Beg pardon sir, bat I'm passing through to Mr. Blake's, ssd I thought you wouldn't mind me resting in the shade until the cool of the evening.' ' How. Sundown Bill, look here. You knew me. We've met befcre. and you know my opinion of you and all the oti er worthless blackguards like yoa who prey on tHs country. Clear ont, and that very much t&.-i'-T than you came.' ' Bat, Mr. Maclean, I'm dead bea f . Don't tain me adrift in such a terrib'a day,' pleaded the sundowner. * It's 25 mites to Mr. Blake's place, and I ain*t equal to the t ip until sunset.' 1 Don't you argue with me, you loafer. Not encugh to be ruined by my stock

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ABBANGEMENT.] The Bushman's Revenge,

By Salian Muib,

[ALL BIGHTS BESEBVED.

dying in thousands end eaten out by the cursed rabbits, but you scamps must pre/ on us as well. Get out quick, or b£ heaves, I'll kick you across the paddocka* * All right, boss; you're master here; I'll go, but Mr. Blake don't treat me like this. Sundown Bill is always welcome at his place,' After a brief pause the desperate man pleadingly added, 'For God's sake, btss, allow me to rest in the. shade until evening, and I promise you I don't trouble you again.' ' No! once and tor all; no! If Blake's such a confounded fool as to harbour you scamps, you'll find my phce no half-way house to Sundowner's Hotel. Clear out, quick.' ' You'll do me one favour, boss ; you'll allow mo to fill my water-bag at your tank,' begged the sundowner. Toen John Maclean lost control of his qiickly rising temper, and while refusing to grant the poor man's request to replenish his water-bag, strode up to him with tvii intent. But Sundown Bill, with the strength inspired of insult and despair met the enraged man unflinchingly, and in a subdued,and broken voice said : • God help me, I'll go. Don't you touch me. I'm footsore and hungry; and my water-bag is nearly empty, and you turn me from your door on this awful day. You're a rich man, and I'm a poor worthless creature, but my word on it I'll be revenged on you yet for this cruelt/.' Maclean approached manacingly ex cloiraing,' You stand there and threaten me; you cursed hound.' 'Don't; don't lay a hand os me,' the buabman loudly entreated.'

Bat John Maclean to bis everlasting shame did, and with one firmly-planted blow, he sent the exhausted, defenceless bushman reeling against the fence. With choking utterance the aggrieved and humiliated man, recovering his position, mattered, ' Yoa cruel coward,' aßd bestowing a dark, reveßgeful look upon the squatter, he swung Lib swag on his shoulder, turned his back on Kanganlla Station and its owner, and continued his slow march serosa the open plain. It was now two o'clock in the afternoon. The hot north wind, intermittently approaching on wings of fire, insidiously flicked the broEzsd, sullen face of the wayfarer with stinging effect, but, suffering the acuter pain of wounded feelings, Sundown Bill felt it not. The everchanging currents met now and again in direc 5 opposition, and, forming whirling eddies, caused columns of fiae dust to envelop tte form of the traveller, but blinded by passion, born of insult and itjuiy, Suidown Bill saw it not. Consumed mentally by a wild desire for revenge, and physically by a burning thirst, the pens cuted vagrant, with bowed head, plodded wearily on, and only once, umtil he had passed from sight, was he observed to pause for a minute to moisten Mb parched lips with a few drops from his almost depleted water-bag.

CHAPPEB 11. Oa the departure of the Sundowner, John Maclean withdrew to the coolest chamber of his house, and having partaken of a glass of cold whisky and soda, stretched himself upon his Boft couch for his customary siesta. Conscious of having done his duty in so Eummarily disposing of the vagrant, Mr. Maclean set himself to think ol a more pleasant subject, and founa it in the pecsonality of his son—his oae child, Boy; the only creature on God's earth on whom he bestowed affection. Aud Boy Maclean was a boy to be beloved. Of a gentle, kind disposition, inherited from Jsis mother, now these three years rtsting in the grave, the lad (by the very diversity of their natures, apart from paternal instinct) bad entwined himself around the heart of his father. B;>y was now thirteen years of age. H-3 had spent the past ten months at school at the capital of the colony, aad bad returned for the midsummer holidays not a week previously. Being thoroughly at homo in the saddle, like all colonial youths. Roy rode over on th t evening to to see hia friends, the bojß and girls of the Blake family, on the understanding that he would return home three days later. On the afternoon of the day before Lo was to return, however, the die-

earning eye of Mr. Blake saw, what be regarded as unfailing signs of a coming change in the weather, and thought it prudent that Soy should ride home in the comparative coolness of that evening, rather than await the chances of the' morrow morning. So shaking hands with his friends, after mutually exprrssiHg many good wishes Roy mounted his pony at five o'clock, calculating to be home by eight. ;% All went well with the lad until he dismounted at the bonndaiy of his father's and Mr. Blake's runs for the purpose of opening the gate to admit of passing thiough. Having opened the gate, the horse was led on, but not having drawn him sufficiently far forward, the closing gate struck the heels of the animal, which, being a spirited beast, instantly kicked out vigorously, and, sad to state, struck the boy a violent blow, breaking his leg a few inches above the knee. Utt rly helpless and in great pain, the youth crawled to the gate post, and there, with the best fortitude he could summon, awaited he knew not what. He was twelve miles from his father's house, and unexpected there; he was thirteen miles from Mr B'akVs residence, and on a track along which it was highly improbable any traveller would at that season pass. Two hcurs hsd elapsed, in which he had suffered excruoiating pain, and was now pissing off into fitful states of semiconsciousness. He must lie here all night and throughout the coming storm, or perhaps the dazzling sunshine and terrible heat of the marrow, should the expected change not come. The darkness was rapidly falling, and happily with it the darkness of unconsciousness was supervening on the mind of the afflicted youth. With closed eyes he lay, feebly * moaning.

Now Sundown BUI kept the beaten track on his journey from Kingarilla to Mr. Blake'a station, aud being already fully six hours on the way, walking and resting, he approached the boundary gate of the two properties as young B>y Mec?ean was in the last stage of sensibility. The Eucdowner was not a little surprised to bear wY&t clearly appeared to him to be the faint moans of a distressed human being. Arrived at the spot from which the sounds emanated, he was amazed to find the form of a delicate youth, with an expression on the face indicative of intense snffaring. 'Hiw'B this,' he queried. ' Whet haß tappened, my lad P' Hut no intelligible answer came from the boy. Then Sundown Bill threw down hi swag, and beßding oa hj s knees, peered into the face of the boy. With a start, he instantly drew himself back, a violent cath escaping his lip?. •Young Maclean,' he cried. His wild eyes gleaming with satisfaction, the sundowner again bent down beside the prostrate youth in order to make certain of his identity. ' Are you the son of Maclean of Kangarilla P' he impetuously inquired. And feebly the reply came' Tea.' •What's the matter? Are you hurt?' • Yes.' slowly answered the boy. ' The horse kicked me as I was coming from Mr. Blake's, and must have broken my leg-* ' Are they expecting you home ? Will they send for you to-night V * No; father doepn't exp:ct me until tomorrow.'

With this effort at conversation, the lad fell into a state of utter unconsciousness, and no further replias could be obtained to the questions of the tramp. Sundown Bill stood up. A dark and dangerous scowl contracted his brow. ' His only son,' he deliberately solilo--1 qui?ed, ' and I've heard, the very apple of bie €ye. What a revenge. It/a no crime to do nothing. If he ain't expected home; to-night and to-morrow will do for him. Ha! ha! he refused me water that might have saved his own son I'm only a hound to be struck and insulted and turned adrift to perish in the scorching sun. I know no better, and doing nothing's no crime. To act up to his father's opinion of me, I ehould kill the youngbter where he ließ. But no, I'll do nothing, but move on, and leave him to die' And pisking up his swag. Sundown Bill straightway walked out at the partially opened gate, an expression of satisfied revenge on his countenance. Then, 88 if-pierced by a dart, the indolent sundowner, the disreputable pariah, the abused and persecuted tramp stood stock-still, irresolute for a second. That instant the am' uldering fire of inherent e cod, which lies latent in the hearts of the worst of men, suddenly touched by the quickening spark of pathetic opportunity, blazed out into brilliant activity. Sundown Bill struck the gate .open with a violent swing, slung his swag on the ground, seized his water-ba? and kneeling beside the prostrate son of John Maclean, he poured a small quantity of the precious liquid down the throat of the insensible youth, thereafter alternately rubbing the hands, and cooling the fevered brow of the sufferer with a moistened handkerchief. Slowly the injured lad awoke to consciousness and pain. ' How do you feel now, sonny P' inquired tae Bundowner. 'I have been asleep. I think. A drink, please ?' whispered the boy. * There ain't much left, sonny, but you'll have what there is.' 'Thank you. You're so good.' ' Hash ! sonny; keep quiet now, till we see what's to be done.' And with a gentle touih, Suidown Bill examined and bound up the lad s fractured limb.

■ * Ycu won't leave me, will you?' pleaded the boy. ' N% srnny, not unless it's necessary.' ' Yi u know where we live ?' ' Yes,' said the bushman. ' You know my father.' ' Oh! father will be so glad, and will be so kind to y< u. What is your name ?' 'Drn't speak ho more, sonny. Keep quiet. My name's Sundown Bill. Ain't jour name Boy Maclean ?' ' Yes/ replied the boy. • Thought so. I remember yonr mother, my boy, when you were a baby. You're a brave little man, ain't you. I'm going to try yon, sonny. I can't carry you home. I haven't strength to do it, and yon couldn't bear it, anyhow.' * * Yon won't leave me?' the b>y pleaded ' I must for a few hours, sonny. I'll make you a bed of my rng and things, and make you as c mfortablo as possible. I'll the a walk b> ck as quickly as I can to your fathers he use aud send the buggy for you. The moon will be up, and you won't be afraid. Wb'll soon be back.' (To be continued.) _^