WOODONGA: A TRAGEDY OF STATION LIFE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVI, Issue 78, 1 April 1905, Page 11

WOODONGA: A TRAGEDY OF STATION LIFE.

(Author of '** A Fight to a Fimsh," "In the Track*oftit* Storm," «te.)

;," CHAPTER XVII. THE MAN WE TEALSED. Jiy must have Bashed back again that glance of Horton.*. li was our man alter all; the same, who had left VV'oodoonga "without an 'at to his "ed," as Tom the stableman said—"as if 'ell was after 'im." as he had told the magistrate. 1 felt as if we had him in our power at last, and should now be. able to go back and make a fresh start ' .-whatever that might mean—knowing ' that Mr. Leslie's murder would not go itßitvengcd. My thoughts moved quick- , ly, and I had left my present surroundings, aud in imagination was already hack at Woodoonga, 1 hough still curiously conscious lhat I was leaning hack against the rough wall of the little goJdfields inn, watching the lights and shadows thrown by the lamp that had just been lighted. "Well mate, 1 dunno where 'c lives, not rightly, neither —" These were the next words that reached mc tit rough • the niist of my thoughts, aud it was the gruff voice of the big man that said them. "Soincwheers down along by the Inst water 'ole, in the 'nt as Lame Joey built afore 'c got speared —leastways, They say as that's wheer "c sleeps." "Got speared?" Horton asked in a tone of surprise. "You haven't any blacks round here, have you?" "Ain't we just, mate." another voice broke in. "Heaps on 'em, and you'd better believe it." The big man laughed hoarsely. "So I've 'eercl, once or twice afore. Martin," he said contemptuously. "So I've 'cerd, ' but 1 ain't never come across one on 'em yet." "Well mate: what about Joey thcuT' -the first voice replied. "03i well. I ain't a-conn tin' uf "im. mates. Stands to reason, dont it, that a pore little devil like that must come to grief some'o'.v, if so be as *c couldn't away from a spot like this?" "Well, but mate, lie were speared, ;, weren't he now?"'

"So they said." the big man admitted, with a sort of good-natured I'orlwarance which could afford to concede s<> small •a point as that—"but wot's one nigger, artcr all. come to that? No, mate, you take my word for it. theer ain't'no - 'blacks' around this gully not wuth ...nientionnr, any'ow."

; "I suppose you carry pistols, or somci thing, don't you?" Horton asked 'looking across the table at the man who seemed to he Martin—the pioneer of the gully. ,no doubt, that, bore his name.

1 The big man laughed boisterously— "Pistols, mate?' he growled. "Pistols, for one 0' them rats? Not much. Wheer- . abouts did you come from?—if 1 might -make so free. Kind of a greetvorn you ! must be in them parts—leastways onless ye hails from AmeriVv, whee'r they lays out their pistols alongside their plates afore they begins their grub— > so's to be ready."

Several other voices joined in the big man's laugh at the picture he had called up.

"Oh well." Horton said quietly, when he had joined good-naturedly fn the .'laugh. -I suppose it's all right; hut it seems to mc that if a score of them got together, they might put a spear in somebody that wasn't as lame as Joey; a pistol might come in handy then mightn't it?"

Like a. distant echo to Horton's last word, there came the faint sound of a long "Coo-ee." It seemed to rise like a low whisper out of the darkness, then to swell into a weird, threatening murmur, and at last to die away, in a faint sigh that suggested pain.'in the distance.

I confess I had started at tlie sound', and though most oi the others seemed either to be more familiar with the native call, or to have nerves under better control than mine, I noticed that every . eye seemed to turn by a common impulse to one or other of the two small windows, one on each side of the door, ,that looked like darker blots on the "Wall since the night closed in. The landlord who had been standing at the. '.oor leading into the place where the liquor was kept, keeping a watchful eye ■wn his company with a view to additional orders, walked down the room and tried to look ont of the window— the attempt was a failure, for .fee turned away with the remark, "ArTali. boys, but it's dark. Faix now, an' 'I wonder where that lone ha-nd spalpeen put himself away this bli<-sid , Bight?" He had walked back to his original P°st of observation, casting a keen _lance jd passing at the glasses on the table, before anybody else spoke. The . oig man took a long p-ill at tbe large •j; glass before him. and then glanced up and down the room at the rows of .feces, with half a smile on his own. "Well now, come to that marfces, 1 ,*int a-sayin' but wot it did sound like a niggur, neither—but. wot o' that? .Wot's a niggur arter all? A pore little _«evil, as a j ut neither a man, nor yet a recent monkey. You don't want no pistols for such trash." Almost before he had finished, the lathe long, low note.'rose, and swecled, and died away: this lime it came from the other side of the house. In spite of the big man everybody listened, and When it censed it was' Martin's voice "at remarked, "There's more nor one *f them this time, mates. Are al) hands "ere, 1 wonder, except Louc-hand Charlie?" -kvery evr turned to its next neighbour, as if tn repeat the question, and W'eral voices said at once—"Where's flggetty Sam?" Whoever he might, be if. was evident n wasn't present, and there was a mur™w of voices as everybody turned and «P?ke in low tones 'to their nearest 2 bo, ' rs ' There could hardly be a JUbt that Nuggetty Sam was a more ffPUar character "than Lorn- - hand Marlie, at any rate. _|3 S ! 00 P* ""-st likely." one voice sttg'Tie W p,-p O fT mi a tramp after fcfej; s . r? uncl yesterday, and only got "* this afternoon—l see him getting s ™e tucker as I passed. er-nt su fSefition met with general ac- - ft" n< *-; a "d it was evident the chance a native spear finding >,uggetly Sam k'-feih i > as Sc - rious '- ciill*-" soulel>od y better give 'im a m . n is suggestion came from a smallish t n " ° sa t near mc. I looked round idol better ' but his face was in «*liri<. a B l iiJ C!,r! ". lhe bi £ msm "coined.j ' lc any, rappmg his tumbler, now al- i •""« «*pty, on the table. w *Eari earH

Good for Tommy Atkins, says I. 'E's too small for to get : it wi'them -'ere spears, ye was a-talkin' about, which is always something.'' > Big Ben's joke fell rather flat, for the next moment two more of the same wierd, whispering calls came up oat of the darkness, and rang tremulously through the big shadowy room- Before they had quite died away the small man he had referred lo as 'Tommy Atkins" had risen to his feet and faced Big Ben. ''Well, mate,'' he said, "I'll allow I ain't quite as big as some; nor my talk ain't us big neither, but I'm game to risk the spears." He caught up a dilapidated looking felt hat as he spoke and turned to the door, where it stood midway between the two darker blots that stood for windows. There was a murmur of approval, though nobody said anything aloud, while he walked down the room with a step lliat explained Ben's reference to him as Tommy Atkins. He iiad almost readied it when a quick footstep sounded on tlie harder ground outside, aud next moment the door was opened, aud a tall man stood in the entrance. For a single instant I thought it might be the man we were in search of, but a second look would have corrected the mistake, even if his appearance bad not been the signal for a general and hearty exclamation of welcome.

"That you, mate?" was the greeting of the man who had been going in search of the new-comer. "I were just a-coming to give you a call, for fear ' 3*ou mightn't 'are 'card them niggurs." |As he spoke the small man palled ofT his hat and retreated to his seal. "Right ye was. mate," was the answer of Nnggctty Sam. given in a loud. hearty voice, '-I'm here, all right: but thankee all the sane. J've. a notion to : myself as it ain't altogether healthy j sleeping in a tent hy yerself wi' them wild-cats whining round ye in the dark." He came forward while he was speaking and took a seat near the foot of the long uible. nodding to the landlord as he did so in a way that led to his being -.supplied at once with refreshments like the others. "More'n one o' them devils about, 'aint there, mate?" Martin remarked. Xuggetty Sam nodded before burying his nose in the tumbler. ''I believe ye. mate," he replied, as ha emerged once more, "t-iquealin' round the gully like tom-cats of a moonlight night they arc- I wonder what, the devil's brought 'em round. It mightn't meau nothing, in course, but ye can't never be sure." A general grunt of acquiescence passed round the room, (tig Ben had been rather thrown into the shade by recent events, but he evidently felt that the moment bad arrived for* him to reassert himself. "Sure be blowrd." he exclaimed, as he brought a huge fist down ou the rough boards before him in a way that made the tumblers rock, as if they had been aboard ship, and a sea. had struck her. "Who ever 'eerd o' whinin' doing any sort o' harm, mates? And as for r.pears, them rats '-lint gr.t the pluck for to throw one at a man." Tbe. la.st comer looked at Ben over the edge of his tumbler. "What about Lame -loey. mate?" lie asked quietly. "Lame Joey," Ben repeated "contemptously. "Call that pore little devil a man? Should 'a' bin ken' in a "orspital, he should. No mate, 'c don't count! 'cept, in course, for breakin' of the neck o' the niggur as did it. if on'v we could ketch 'im. I'm talkin' about' a man as could 'it "em back." Ben's appearance suggested a man of that sort, which possibly acountcr] for tlie pause that followed the statement of his opinions. "Didn't you say there was somebody else that hadn't come in?" Horton said at last. "On'y Lone 'and Charlie," Bert replied carelessly. "But 'c never comes up. "c don't,. Got something wrong with 'iirt blue devils or something." Nuggetty Sam drained his glass and rose to his feet "He mightn't, be fond of black devils mate, for all that." ho said. He took his bat from the beuch at his side as he spoke and put it on. Horton sprang to his feet. "I'll #<, with yon. mate." he said, "if you're going to fetch him. I've got; a revolver here. too. in ease we're attacked." "Oh, yp wont want no pistols," Ben exclaimed with a laugh, "them niggurs weren't, never know'd to face two white men. p:stol ox no." Neither of the men took am- notice of Ben s remark, but as thov passed mc on the way to the door I made a ,st e „ forward to join Horton. "Better not : Stevens," he whispered, "one's enough: , but 1 ye got to see him brought in safe.'' Nnggetty Sam opened the door. "\h that's better." he said, "the moon's "rising, mates. That'll frighten them devils on; we may as well get him up here though, for fear of accidents." The two men stepped from the doorway, and looking after them r could see that the misty gray light of the moon's dawn was beginnin- to whiten the mist that' seemed to lie in the lower ground. The two men walked rapidly down j the slope, Horton following a yard or | two behind his companion. There was not much light as yet, for the moon was still some way below the horizon, and there were no stars visible. Orav as it had looked on the tou of the ridge where the Wallabyte Rest stood, the hollow into which they were descending looked black and inpenei ruble; the mist thai spemed to till it lay heavily over everything, so that even a few yards away nothing was visible. The "only words that had passed had been when Nuggetty Sam had taken the lead, throwing the words over bis shoulder as he passed. "Betler let nip go first, mate: 1 know whereabouts we'll find him." The words were cut short by another wild call that came up out ol the darkness, and was echoed by several others, that sounded like the despairing shrieks of evil spirits. Sam biiTried on, as if he recognised that they were nearer than before. At last there was the shadow* of a tent, which disappeared almost as soon as it was seen. Then, after a few minutes of tramping through the soft shifting sand, another on the right—then two or three more at various distances along the hollow. "We're nearly there now. I think," Nnggetty Sam -whispered. "He's got no mate, poor devil, and he's took Lame Joey's empty hut; nobody else would hTar_k.*tli«-," _;___ _,__, UIrJIMIaJA ,

Almost as the words left Nuggetty Sam's lips, a coo-ec, wilder, and if pos- j sible more despairing, than any that: had gone before it, rose from-the shadows in front, and was echoed, first on one side, and then on the other, till there seemed to be dozens of long, shuddering cries echoing one another on every side. "Good God; mate," Sam whispered, "there must be hundreds of "em."' Two or three minutes more of canS tious travelling and they were at the place. Good heavens! Had the j Tion. Charles MoncrietV come to that? As the thought flashed through Horton's mind his compe.nion had stooped and entered the miserable hut, the outline of which could be dimly made out in the dim lig'rTt. Grasping his revolver Horton followed him. 'they stood for a minute searching the shadowy hut with anxious eyes, but there seemed to be nobody there. Then Horton moved, and as he did so his foot came in contact with something. He stooped hastily, and touched it with his hand. With a shudder he recognised that- it was a human face. "He's here," he whispered; "they've killed him. Sam was on his knee in a moment, feeling the prostrate figure with his hand. "iS-o, mate," he said iv a low tune, "T can't feel no spear. He's alive, too,for I can feel his heart beat; I believe, he's only fainted. Give us a hand to get him on my back, will ye? We can't leave- the poor devil here." "Poor devil, indeed." The words rang in Horton's brain like the echo of a death-knell, as he lifted Monerieff's senseless body from the sand to the shoulders of Nuggetty sam. CHAPTER XVIII. VENGEANCE IS MINE. A hush of expectation had fallen on the party at the Wallaby's Best when thm jdoor closed behind Horton and his companion. Even big Ben contented himself with an occasional look of somewhat contemptuous amusement at the company in general between long and deliberate draws at Ids pipe, and the rest of us forgot even to smoke: we were waiting for news. My own eyes were fixed oh the shadowy window, which grew greyer with the lapse of each minute as the light increased outside. I was picturing to myself the meeting of those two men; and the picture was ghastly. Suddenly that chorus of ghostly cries that had startled Horton at Lame Joey's hut reached our ears. Distant and faint. as they were, one thing was certain — there were more than two or three blacks this time. Every man of us started, and more than one rose to his feet. A voice said : "Wot did 1 tell ye mate?" It was Martin, and he looked at Ben. Ben looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment, but he put a bold face on it. "Well, mate; wot o' that If so be timer was twenty on 'em; wot's niggurs like them ?" "Wot hey ye got to tight 'em with, Ben—s'posc it comes to that?" "Fight 'cm with, mate, is it? Let mc on'y get a dozen o' them pore trash alongside, and 1 ain't sure but wot I'd like ye sec." "Oh. 'taint niggurs I'm a-talking about, Ben—it's spears." 1 could stand it no longer: 1 went to the door and opened it. "Faix, an' ye may as wctl kape it. shut." (he landlord's voice said from behind mc, "Sure an' it's oursilves 'II hear, thim afore they git here." '"Yes. and one o' them spe-ars as Martin's afcerd on might 'it ye. mate." Ben added with a. hoarse chuckle. I stepped back reluctantly, and was iv the very act of closing the door when something passed mc with a sharp, whirring sound. A quick exclamation, sudden and inarticulate enough for a sob. passed round the room. I shut the door quickly, and turned to see what it meant. As I did so my eye caught sight of a slender rod which stood quivering in tho middle of the long table, not a yard from where Ben sat staring at this practical answer to his latest joke. For a moment T stared too. hardly comprehending what it meant —then 1 knew: a native spear bad passed mc and buried itself in the table. Every man in the room was on liis feet by this time, and there was a quick movement towards the. door. "Hold on there, mates" —it was Martin's voice that arrested the movement — "who's got anything to fight 'em with?" "Ain't we all on us got hands, mate?" Ben growled lifting a huge fist, with a motion which certainly looked like business, as he made another step. Martin pointed to the slender spear which seemed to quiver still. "Where's tbe good o" fists, mate? Ye can't throw them at the niggurs, can ye? Who's got a gun. or a pistol?" The men looked at one another. ''Hain't got none." "Left mine, in the tent." "Ain't had no amminition for mine this fortnight back." The answers to Martin's question came more or less reluctantly, but in effect they were all alike. Seven or eight men out "f the party had lire-arms somewhere; not one of them had either gnn .or pisto] within reach. "Oh. damn pistols, mates—'ere goes!" Ben exclaimed, as he made for the door, dragged it open, aril plunged into the grey darkness outside. "Come on. ye devils." he shouted. "Come on, an' let's see what stuff ye're made on." There was no answer, and he stood for a moment or two. staring about him in the darkness. "'Ere they come!" he shouted, sud-, denly. "Come on. mates. They're, a-, fetehin' along of that l-ione-'and bloke. Thcer ain't no niggurs 'ere." He made two or three quick steps down the slope as he was speaking, and already a dozen of us had sprung from the doorway at his call. Suddenly I saw him wheel half round and shoot out one great fist, as if in the act of striking somebody—though there was nobody in sight —then Ben staggered forward blindly and fell. We had reached him in a moment, anil I stooped over him—what was this? Another slender shaft like the one that had passed mc at the door still quivered where it had struck him in the breast. "Back, men!" I shouted, waving the others back. "Youll only get speared, and you'll never see where it comes from." It was true enough. Even while 1 waved my hantl. v.iih the sudden instinct of saving life, a sharp pain, almost like an electric shock, passed through my arm. and T saw that another spear had struck mc. ami was still hanging from my- shoulder. My warning had scarcely been needed, for already other spears bad darted through the grey shadows, and more than one of onr party had been wounded by invisible enemies; there was a general retreat for the shelter of the house that was almost a flight. T would have gone myself, but there was that figure lying at my feet, with the slender spear shaft, little thicker than a reed still, at least to my imagination, quivering in its breast. I stooped low and tried to raise the head and shoulders from the ground. As

I did so I heard a faint groan; he wasn't dead then. I knelt beside him. and passed my unwounded arm under his head. "All right, mate." a hoarse, huskyvoice said, close to my car. "'All right. Taint no kind o' use. Tve a notion — thankee all the same. But them niggurs ain't no account—pore trash they is—on'y let mc get my -"and;on 'c.m" The words dropped, more- and more brokenly, from big Ben's lips'; then they j died away altogether, and the great band I i which had been clenched as he spoke sank slowly across his broad breast. Ben j had given expression for the last time to his undying contempt for "niggnrs" — nothing had occurred to alter his opinion. But how was I to get back to the shelter of the house? I looked about with a curious shrinking feeling that was new to my experience, and then f heard a soft sound close at hand— it was footsteps. An iustant more and through the dim haze I saw the loom of figures. I rose to my feet. "Horton!" i exclaimed, "stoop low, and run for it, man; the blacks are all round us here." .Something whizzed past mc a- s 1 spoke; it was so close that it seemed to graze my check. The iigurcs—l noticed now that there were two of them, and that one seemed to have something on bis back —did stoop, but they didn't try to run. "Did you not find him?" I muttered, confusedly, as the recollection of what they had gone for came back, which had somehow grown dim — driven away, no doubt, by the events of the last* few minutes. They were near mc now, and when I looked closer I could sec that it was tho figure of a man that one of them was carrying. "Yes, we've got him, but he's insensible. Where, are the blacks?" "Everywhere. All about us. 1 can't see them; but they must be close by: the've killed Ben." At last I had dragged out the spear that hung from my shoulder with an effort which had caused mc very sharp pain, and now I felt faint and stupid, bnt yet by a sort of instinct 1 followed Horton towards the house; then 1 ■seemed to get better, and for a minute felt nearly myself again. We were nearly there, when there came a wild coo-ec from behind, which was answered by others on both sides, and half a dozen shadows seemed to flicker past—one of £bern tore a piece from the leg of my trousers, leaving a sharp, stinging pain in the calf of 1113* leg. I stooped lower, aud made a dash for Ihe open door ol" the Wallaby's Rest, "Ha! There they are at last."' It was Horton's well-known voice that spoke, a* 1 came up with him, and the words were instantly followed by a flash and report —then another, and another. There was a yell that, 'arae out of the mist —a different cry from any we had heard before—and a welcoming shout from a dozen voices in front. "That's right, mate. You got one of the devils that time." The shout was quite close at hand. 1 raised my head, and though it -.warn dizzily. 1 could see through a strangely coloured haze the light that streamed from the door of the inn, and the faces of the men who had dashed out to help us in. 1 staggered, and felt a hand grasp mc by the arm: and then, quite suddenly. 1 found myself in the big room once more. "Horton," J said, "'Horton! Are you all right.'" Horton's fs',ep looked at mc onf of what seemed ; > clond. and his voice said— though il seemed to be some--1 V.JK-1C iai ..v'.'.sy, "iIS. I ILi ytl 11-Jitl--but he's hit-badly, I think." 1 suppose I must have fainted from loss of blood, but at 'the time it seemed as if no more than a minute could have passed before 1 round myself fully conscious again. 1 looked round mc with some surprise. J was lying back in one corner of tho room, propped up against the wall by a pillow without any cover on it behind mc. as I lay with nothing between mc and the floor but a dirty-looking colouredblanket. Somebody had tied a piece of dirty cloth very tighly round my shoulder, and another round my leg, which felt benumbed rather than painful. It must have taken mc several minutes to notice these things, and then complete recollection of all that had happened seemed to come back in a moment, and the thoughts: Where was Horton? And Moncrieff; where was he? flashed through my mind. 1 roused myself and tried to sit up. After an effort or two f succeeded. The place looked the same, and yet it was different, two. The lamp was still smoking on the rough table, /throwing a. dimmer light over the place, hut nobody seemed to be drinking there now. My eyes wandered to the windows, and f could see that they had been barricaded: I seemed to understand that it was to keep out the spears—yes. and Ihe thing which j had confused mc at first as it stood j out from the rough boards over my head—that slender line must be a spear that had stuck there. But then—where was Horton?— 1 could see several figures—perhaps ten lor a doze-—some sitting on tbe benches with tueir backs against the wall, j others apparently lying on the floor, but nobody that looked like Horton. 1 roused myself still more; surely I must have either slept or been unconscious for some time—but where had Horton gone? And Moncrieff—where was he? A door was opened, and a stream of light came in from somewhere outside the big room. T had not noticed that door before, but of course it must lead into some other room, and as I wondered vaguely what room it could be. ,and who could bp there, 1 caught the sound of low voices that seemed to whisper—Horton might be thcTc. 1 struggled quieth* to my feet by tbe help of the wall, and 1 noticed that the effort was more than I should have thought possible. For the lirst minnte or two I felt myself sway giddily, but with two or three unsteady steps I managed to reach the tabic, and rested my hands on it till the feeling passed. Yes; there were voices in that room. and as I listened one of them reached mc. It said. "Poor devil." Then another voice said, "Can't you find auv?"

The iirst voice replied. "Not a drop: they've drunk it all—and too little at that."

Who was the poor devil? Not Horton? oGod Heavens, it couldn't . be Horton? The excitement of the doubt, though only momentary, was enongh to restore mc to myself. I made my way epiietly—though a little unsteadilyround the table, till I was opposite the door, then I crossed and pushed it wider open. It was n bedroom—or at any rate there was a bed on the floor in one corner, and somebody seemed to be lying on it. It was not Horton, at any rate, for now I could see him standing looking down at it with a fixed stare, as if he had no eyes for anything else; it must be at that figure: lying there.,

A strange shiver passed through me— it must be Moncrieff.

I tTP.pt cautiously forward till I could see his face. My instinctive suspicion had been well founded: it was 'Moncrieff. I stood staring helplessly at that face. Like an echo the.words I had heard at the inquest on Mr Leslie came back, "And then 'c rode off, as if all 'ell was arter 'im." Aud I seemed to understand the meaning of the look I read in that ghastly face. It looked as if 'ell had caught him. at last. Suddenly Horton turned way. "Here." he said in a low voice, turning to a man who stood beside him; "give mc that tin. Billy, will you."

"What for. mate? I just* told ye there ain't a drop in it—"taint no good trying." "I'll get some." The man looked at him for an instant silently.

"It's as much as yer • life's worth, mate," he said at last. "It's a good hundred and fifty yards to the. nearest water 'olc. You'll never come back wi' them devils about."

"Won't 1?" Horton replied in a grim whisper. "Anyhow it's worth trying. Look at him."

The last words were spoken in a fierce whisper, and they were echoed by a low, choking sob which seemed to gasp the one word, "water." It came from the bed.

The man looked; then he fetched the tin can with a lid. which 1 bad already learned to recognise as a "billy," and handed it to Horton. Then he opened a door, leading apparently into a room at the back of the house, and said in a whisper, "'Well , mate, if ye must, ye must; anyhow that back window's yor best chance. Down tbe hill straight, and good luck to you."

I would have stopped Horton if I could, but I seemed to have lost the power even to speak. That face. I think, and that low, gasping appeal had done it. I knew it was as much as Horton's life was worth, and all for what? for the murderer of his friend. Yes: but also for a man who was dying, haunted by memories a thousand times worse than any penalty the vengeance of the law could wreak on him. No; I couldn't say one word to stop him. even if the expression of Horton's face had not told mc plainly how useless it would be. And so he went.

1 leaned against the wall and listened. It seemed to mc that every faculty 1 possessed was absorbed in the single effort to hear. The place, ghastly with its feeble light and ghostly shadows— the figures of the half-dozen men standing silent and helpless round that wretched bed; even that face, staring at mc. or seeming to stare, with agonised, terror-struck eyes, were hardly noticed in the intensity of my effort to hear. The minutes crept on. and still there was not a sound.

At last there came the. faint echo'of a native call —I started—then another, and another; it seemed to mc they were closing in on the back of the house. Then came the sharp report of a pistol; then a cry. At the sound the figure on the bed started with a convulsive movement, and almost sat up, while his face worked, and his eyes glnred, us if he saw something terrible. There was another report, and a wild scream—and then all was still once more. What had happened?

A minute er two passed, and everybody in the room waited breathlessly. Then there was a footstep and the. low sound of a question and answer in the next room. 'The door opened quietly, and Horton came in. I could see that his face was deadly pale, but he tock no notice of anything apparently but the man lying on the ht-d. whose eyes seemed to meet his with a strange, agonised question, as be knelt beside him, and putting his arm behind his head, held the "billy" to his lips.

lie didn't drink. His eyes had fixed themselves on Horton'*, and he seemed conscious of nothing but what he read thfre. Then I thought "ho tried to speak, but the effort ended in a gasp, ilorfon's hand raised his head, almost tenderly now. and for just one moment the water touched his parched lips. Then the expression changed. The pain and terror died out of his eyes and a look of peace—a look that was almost a smile—took its place. The eyes—the weary, hunted eyes—grew calm and still; the head fell backward—the struggle was over. Slowly, and tenderly. Horton let him sink to the pillow. His self-imposed task was ended here. He had captured Mr Leslie's murderer, as he had promised. He had handed him over to the Judge.

The thought was still passing through my mind when I saw lloTton bend forwaifl. lower and lower still. lie would have fallen across the dead man's breast if a man beside him hadn't, stooped quickly and caught him in his arms.

"'Ere. mates," he said; "lend a hand. One o' them black divils must ha' put a spear in 'im."

rOSTSCBITT. (By Another Hand.) He came back at last. 1 always knew he would, of course, in reality, because he had promised, though I had told myself a hundred times that he would never come. But it was mouths —and the months had seemed to be years after we heard that he was wounded. 1 didn't- venture lo ask about him. for I couldn't help feeling that if 1 did people would kn<*b~w just how I felt; and they would be sure to say I had no right to feel, because he was nothing to'live —houiing to I mc. Elsie knew. I couldn't keep it from Elsie, of course, though 1 never said one word—hut then Elsie was like myself almost, and that 'didn't seem to matter so much. But oh, it was a dreadful time. Weeks ,'_nd weeks had gone by since T <jot. that little formal note written by him the day they left Port Adelaide—and not a vrord —not. a single, word more. 1 wonder how often I read it over, or how many pictures 1 made in my own mind of all N_*kt might have bappoxe.d? At night 1 used to dream of it all; and then T could see him quite plainly. He was always travelling— Irav-dling across those dreadful sands we usee to read about in tlie newspaper, where people died for want of a drop of water, fill at last one night a great horrtr seemed to come over mc. and I woke with a scream that frightened Elsie in 'lie next rootn. 1 knew that something dreadful had happened, but although T told myself over and over again that 1 was sure he was dead, 1 am not sure that I ever quite believed it. Af last we heard—or at least Elsie beard. She got a letter from Mr. Stevens telling her about him—the most terrible story, but tbe most wonderful and beautiful, too. I had ever heard. He had found that awfnl man, whom nobody else could find. He had not brought him back, nor even handed him over to be tried, as he bad intruded, bnt that was because he had been punished already—he was dead—oh. such a dreadful death! It made us both—Elsie and me—shudder as we. read about it. And somehow, though I bad once thought I cared nrore to have that man punished

than .anything else in the world, I didn't seem to think so much about that now. It was the story of how he had rescue* the miserable creature from the blacks: most of all how he had risked, and nearly lost, his own life to get water for him when he was dying—oh, that was wonderful.

At last he came. We knew they were coming, for Mr. Stevens had written again to tell Elsie, and we sent the drag over to meet the train. They went straight to Mr. Roberts' cottage—-Mr. Roberts was the new manager he had recommended wben he went away, because he was an old friend of his —in spite of what Elsie had written about coming to the house. Both Elsie aud I were vexed, and even Auntie, who had said it was quite the proper thing to do, felt uncomfortable, I to see. when Tom told us how thin and pale he was—for, of course, we could have made him far more comfortable :»fc the house. And yet—after all—l don't know that T wasn't just a little glad. too. I couldn't help being glad to have time to grow accustomed to knowing he was there before I had to speak to him. I suppose that was foolish; but, then, it. bad been all so strange and dreadful. It was different with Elsie, of course. She was just Wild to sec Mr. Stevens, and ask questions about everything; and she was quite angry it was too late for them to come over to call the evening they came back. But then, of course. Elsie was different. She had nothing to remember, as T had: for, of course, J couldn't forget that day before he went away— and wliat he had said, and how he had looked. He came at last. He had sent a message by Mr. Stevens when he came to call in the morning that he hoped be might be allowed to see mc in the afternoon; fancy his doing thati I don't know how it was, but I felt as if I must see him in the same room. We never used it at all now; but somehow it seemed the right place, and perhaps— perhaps it would make it easier, I thought. 1 waited for him there; and I know I felt frightened. What would he look like? What would he say? And it, wasn't one bit like what I expected. He was pale, and thinner, too, but he seemed hardly changed at all; and when he stood in the window again—as he did on that dreadful morning, it all came back. I know 1 could hardly rise to shake hands, and I'm quite sure my voice must have trembled when I tried to say how glad I was to see him looking so much recovered. He just looked at mc out of those eyes that always seemed so large and strong, as he said: "Yes, Miss Leslie. I've come back to tell you that T failed to do what. I promised 1 would do when 1 saw you last." "Failed!" I said, indignantly. "Failed! Oh. no: you must not say that. You didn't fail; or, if you did, no success was ever half so good." There was a new light in his eyes, T think, as he looked into mine, where he must have seen the tears that gathered at the thought of all he had done for mc. and how he had done it. "But I have something more to confess," lie continued after a moment. "I wanted to tell you that I w;as glad I failed. When 1 left you I went in search of venfjeaiiee —thank God. 1 didn't succeed: T came back to tell you this." He stopped there, and we sat without speaking for a minute or two. He moved at last—l "thought he was going. "Oh, Mr. Horton." I. managed to say; "you are not going." "<loing?" he said, looking down at mc, as I sat almost trembling. "Yes: what [else is there for mc. to do?" Was il: wrong to say it, I wonder? At any rate 1 couldn't help it: "•Stay!" i exclaimed—"stay with us!" He looked at me—oh. so strangely. "Stay?" he repeated. "But it was your father who sent mc away, Miss Leslie." "Why did he do that"? Tell mc, why. Mr. Horton," T exclaimed. •■.Because"—-and the words seemed to bo forced between his lips one by one with an effort—"because I bold him I loved y-ou. 1 must go now, because I love you more than ever." "No. no. no!" 1 cried, as I rose to my feet, and laid my hand on his arm. "No! I say you shall not go. Why should you go away, iw you love mc?" He bent nis head, almost as if he had been afraid to look at mc while he said it: but he spoke in a low, steady voice: "Because my grandfather —my grandfather was a convict.'' Then he raised his bead and looked proudly into my face. If T hadn't loved him before I think 1 should have loved him then. T clasped my other hand round his arm as 1 exclaimed: "You grandfather! Yes. [ know. But your grand father is not you—and I love you." I bad said it., f had dared to say it. Ah. yes. and I shall never regret it — never. We were happy —happy at last. And Elsie? ft was her laugh—her own happy, light-hearted laugh —the very first I had heard since they went away, that, came up to us front the garden. Oh, yes—Elsie will be happy too. THE END.