TALES OF THE WILDERNESS.

Auckland Star, Volume XLIII, Issue 23, 26 January 1912, Page 2

TALES OF THE WILDERNESS.

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THE BED BELL’S LAST FIGHT. (By WILL LAWSON.) They were building a railway through the Red Bull’s territory. At first a flying survey gang disturbed the stillness of the hills and gullies. Their campfire smoke •curled up above the trees to the wonderment of the Red Bull and all his people, some of whom had never seen a man or smelt the man-taint on the breeze. With axe and slasher the men cleared tracks through the scrub, their rifles rang out the knell of more than one young bull, and when the herd moved further afield, the flying gang followed, for the railway was to pierce the wildest country to reach the fertile lands beyond. For a time there was a great uneasiness among the cattle. They split into several herds, but the Red Bull, after the first alarm, moved bock to the domain wherein he had ruled during the passage of many suns and many moons and many seasons. And after a time the flying survey men were gone. For many months peace reigned again in the lonely places. Then eame the second survey gang, who went slowly over the ground and cut down more trees and scrub and slew more cattle. Yet they had cotne to slay more than cattle, for there was no more silence, no more peace, no glorious loneliness such as the wild cattle loved. Presently the beasts began to realise this. So they scattered far and wide, searching for these things in wider stretches of wilderness. All save the Red Bull and a few faithful cows. He led them still by the old well-loved ways and hid them cunningly in well-bushed places from the rifles of the men. Next came the advance guard of the construction gangs—men with broadbladed axes and bright-headed picks that flashed in the sunlight as they hewed the forest giants down, and bit wide wounds in the great curves of the hillsides. From a great distance the Red Bull watched, and the Black Cow, standing at his shoulder, heard him muttering and growling to himself in sullen rage at the sight. But the axes never ceased cutting; the picks swung up and down, up and down like parts of a huge machine. Men with harrows were soon displaced by horses and drays, and still from a great distance the Red Bull muttered and rumbled and kept his herd in shelter, because of the guns he had learned to beware. In course of time there was a winding, well-graded way cut an the hillsides; the gullies wore orossed on high earth embankments, and busy camps sprang up along the line. Time and again the Red Bull barely evaded the eyes of hunters, who on Sundays went out with rifle and gun to bag game for the larder. It was' high time the old patriarch moved further afield. His cows thought so, but always when they wandered away he called them, and led them back to the old we'lloved ways, where he had been King for all these years. The platelayers were following close on the earth workers. It was on a warm, bright day, when the distance was blurred in haze that the first engine whietle blew in the Red Bull’s domain. Faint and far away it cried, like a young bull in his first mating season. The Red Bull tramped to the hill crest where he had his vantage point, and muttered and grumbled in his deep, wide chest. But he saw nothing. A week later the locomotive came up to the rail-head, whistling shrilly and puffing stentoriously. The Red Bull could stand it no longer. He thrust forward his head and roared his deep-lunged answer to this strange boast’s challenge. And his bellow was the death knell of his herd, for the railway men heard at last the cry of the cattle they had often sought, and knew that without a doubt there were wild cattle in the hills. All unknowing, the old bull sallied down alone when the night was at its darkest, about an hour before dawn. Across the loose earth of the formation, over the steel rails and sleepers, right down to the rough yard where the engine stood, he marched. •But his weariness bade him be silent. For a long time he stood and watched the black bulk of the strange beast. Then muttering and growling, he went back to the well-hidden herd. They looked at him askance, as common people do when their leader becomes sullen, and seems to he leading them on the wrong way. Yet because of his great prowess they still followed where he led. Very early on the next Sunday morning he was taking them down to a grassy place deep in the heart of a wide gifily, where |h«re were also young leaves to browse upon, when suddenly he smelt the man taint upon the breeze, and stood still to reconnoitre. The cow's crowded behind him in anxious manner, and in his own n»art fear came at last. Suddenly he wheeled and dashed into the scrub, and at that instant the rifles crashed. The slayers were close at hand; they had found the herd in the evening, and camped near by. The Black Cow went down first with a broken shoulder, and her bellow of anger and pain brought the Red Bull charging back out of the hush to add to the confusion of the herd. Distracted, terrified, they rushed here and there, and all the while tie bullets sang till only the Red Bull remained upright. Ho had one bullet in his rump, another through the loose akin of his neck when he escaped into the bush once more. Henceforth he lived alone; a soured, fierce beast, he haunted the railway works at night and by day kept aloof on his hills, and muttered to himself when the ballast engines shrieked and snorted along the shining way. Time passed; the railway was finished. Heavy engines hauled long trains of wagons back and forth, never stopping, only crying hoarsely as they passed and repassed. There was a greater peace in the hills than there had been for a long time, because the men had all gone save a few who tended the track and ushered the engines through the Red Bull’s domain. The Red Bull was very lonely. The was brilliantly starlit, the air clear, as he crashed through the undergrowth and marched across the open spaces on his way to the railway. He went along the permanent way to the approaches of a tall viaduct which spanned a gorge in which ho and his people had often wintered. Tho bull smelt the steam-and-oil-stained rails and clones and steel of the bridge. Then lifted up- bis great head and listened. Far away, behind him, a deep hoarse bellow rang. He turned towards the sound, and, standing still, listened for the challenge to be repeated. Again it echoed, much closer at hand, and a rumbling, louder than tbc grumbling of the Red Bull, made a throbbing in the air. Another lourr whistle and ronnd the corner rushed the first passenger train

to cross the new mountain section. In a special car attached to it were the officials of the line. They were toasting all the men who had helped to plan and push this great enterprise through. One at the heaviest of their engines, weighing nearly 150 tons, was hauling the train and doing her best to show how fast the Bervice could be run. At sight of her leaping towards him, great joy turned in the embittered heart of the Red Bull. He was not afraid of these beasts. Had he not come down at night and smelt them as they stood like cowards on the track, cold and silent! His bellow answered the scream of Number 1182. With lowered head he charged straight for the approaching locomotive. The engine-driver saw the bull for a second in the head-light's rays. The next, before he could apply a brake or pull the whistle cord, there "was & slight jar. Then the train was flying on unhurt, across the tail viaduct. In the private car someone said, "What was that jolt?" And the answer came with a good-natured laugh at the expense ot the constructing engineer, who was lojjjcing out of the window, "Oh, that's one of Johnson's transition curves." Down into the jrully, flung like an old sack, from the blow of No. 1182's cow-catcher, down into the deep gorge, where be and his people had so often wintered, the ■Red ißull fell, to sleep through the long winter that comes to every beast.