The Awakening of Lin.

Evening Post, Volume LXXII, Issue 66, 15 September 1906, Page 10

The Awakening of Lin.

The day 1 was breathless with heat and sunlight, and with the mirage on the flax swamp below the spur. The naked rocks were hot underfoot, and the stones rattled froin'a ehingle-slip, leapt the curve of the ridge, and shoaled into the lean gully below. Lin Cradock halted, rubber the dust and sweat from his eyelids, and talked to the dogs in speech that a long day's mustering had made husky ,and direct. More shingle slid, the grate of oleft hoofs came back on the rock, and Lin trailed the sheep down the razorbacked spur, with the lines of his young strong face settling down into content again. Far belon- woolshcds and yards swam in tho gold of summer sunset, and through the murmuring of t.ired 6heep and of wator falling somewhere Rounded the clear voico of a girl calling the chickens for their food. Lin straightened, swinging down the steep with liis clear eyes eager witb delight. "I must tell her first," he said; "B«tbs first, o' course. An' she'll say — '' He broke off with a laugh: snapped a branch of manuka to beat, the mob strough the gate at the hill-foot, rounded them into the yards, and went up +o the house along the poplar drive with the quick lithe movement that no weariness could dim. In tho great wattle-and dab kitchen the shadows were slanting already, and the glow from the range struck vack flashes from the tinware on the walls to the bright hair of the girl stooping over the fire. Lin tossed his hat on the floor, and pat on the tabl«-corner, loosening the collar round his hot wet neck. "It's been a brute of a day, Babs. A fair brute ! Never a smell of shade ; an' thistles everywhere, an' the dogs so done, I thought I'd have to hump 'em up the paddock.'* Babs glanced up with a spoon in her hand. Her eyes were sweet and dark, and there was" a little upward curve to her mouth. "You don't look much the worse for it," sho said lightly. "No. . . Babs; I'vo got something to tell you. Something that I've known a long time, but I—lI — I couldn't speak of it till now. I fixed it up with uncle over at the Iron Hut. He won't be in with tho rest of the men till to-morrow — but he said I could come along, an' — an' — " Bahs turned back to tho range, stirrinp the stew blindly in the saucepan. Her throat and eyes burnt, and her heart was choking her. "Don't you want to know what it is, Babs?" She heard his step close behind her, and all the maiden in her was flushing, afraid, and tremulous with her love. "I — what did father say, Lin?" "He said i could do as I liked. And so — I'm going, Babs ' Next, week ! Going! Clearin' out to find my own life, an' my own way, an' my own devils, an' things ! I've had enough o' this life ! I knew I couldn't stand it for ever. And I'm going — going away." The lilt of utter delight was in his voice, and he slid his arm round her shoulders. "'Member how we used to play cowboys, an' fighting, an' all sorts when we were kids, old girl? Now I'm goin' to have a try at 'em. Pity you're not a boy, so you could come along too ! Oh, Babs, I'm going to have a good time." She felt the weight of his arm on her shoulder, and tho warmth of his quick breath by her cheek. And she knew that there was more than the width of the world between them two. But there was need for some words, if she could find them. "Of course. And you'll tell us all about it, directly. Lin, it's near teatime " "Jove ! An' 1 wanted a bathe first. Go 6low with things, Babs, and give a fellow a chance." The <loor clanged behind him, and Babs stirred the stew, speechlessly, numb ly, submitting to this that had come upon her, as women are taught to submit. "Babs, has Lin come in yet?" • Babs did not turn, and her voico was steady". "Yes, mother. He's gone over to th& dam for a bathe." "Bathe ! And tho cows have got away down the gorge, and theae's no one to go after them " "I'll go, mother." Babs pulled the saucepan back, and passed the little wo man at the door. "Where's father's whip? Yes; Ijjll ride Bory; he doesn't mind a stock-whip." She whistled up a couple of dogs, ran to the stable, and flung the gear on the old hill-horse that could turn a bolting mob with any man of them all. A fierce, ae&ire for swift movement and danger, and the greut silence of naturo caughv her, driving her headlong down the paddocks to the grey, rugged gorge, ■where the river snarled through the twilight. Heavy clouds were stooping over the gorge, and a flutter of cold wind passed her on hurried wings as she pulled rein by the river, and dropped tothe ground, searching with quick eyes for the hooftracks. "Up the hill," sho said. "Rory, vou'vo got to scramble for it. Come, then." The manuka and low fuchsia, §crub crashed Tound her. The smell of trodden pepper-tree and) flax rose strong on the chilling evening. Rory struggled with great shoulder-heaves ; _ scraping fire from the flinty rocks ; eßumbling on dead trees, and faltering in a -sudden bog where a spring was born. Night came rapidly, with a howl of wind, and a sudden rattle of rain on the leaves. All the wild wrath of nature found its answer in Babs's hearb. Tho noisy dark made desperate with ripped branches and shrieking trees, and rattling stones, understood her better than the warm kitchen with the blinds drawn, and Liv opposite to tell again that he was going away — away — She had forgotten the cattle. She had forgotten . the wet wind in her face, the spinning- leaves and twigs ; the jarring and sliding as Rory topped a rock or stumbled into a little ravine. Lin was going — going. And for her were ten • years on the station — twenty — thirty, without! him. Rory stiffened with a sudden snort of terror on the rim of a deep gut torn in the hill, trembled, overbalanced, and! went down with her to the dried- watercourse and tihe fern far below. And the black of tho night hid the- yellow gash that his hoofs had ripped in the clay. Lin came from the dam at the call of the tea-bell. His sleek head was shinting^ and his square shoulders moved easily under the clean shirt. He took his aunt by the chin, and stooped to kiss the thin weather-Worn lace. "The dogs scoffed half my lunch, auntie," he said. "An' I'm hungry clean through. Where's Babs?" "Not back yot. She went down the Gorge after tne cowb " "Down the Gorge !" Lin spilt his cup as he set it) on the table. "Why, it's black as sin already — and raining, too." "She'll' be back directly.. Have some rtew, J3Tn?" Eln ate hurriedly, with one ear cocked for the roar of coming hoofs through tho night. Then ho pushed his plate aside. "B'lieve I'll go an' meet her, auntie. She may have trouble with tihe brutes, an' ehes such a beggar never to give in." "Lin — you don't think there's any danger V The break in the old tired voice shook L'm'u ntrvc. "How should there be?" he said .roughly., BAb x ie'nb a .fool | But) I'll

just go along an' give her a hand." He "buttoned his coat to the chin, and pulled his cap over his ears. Bufc the sleet struck chill to' him in the doorway. "Give me a wrap of some sort — she'll need Buck up, auntie; I'll have her back d'rectly." There was a fear in him that he did not name. Babs was .reckless with horses always, and the 'river was high and very swift. Moreover, the lightning was writing wicked woTd? across the sky, and the smell of thunder maddened the colt he rode, as it would certainly madden old Rory. Down the home paddock full stretch, witJi the colt steadied over tho sliprails; across the turnip patch, and ■round the im of the swamp. Then tho Toar 'of the river shut out the scream of the wind, and Lin drew rein by it — standing in the stirrups, and sending a coo-ec out into tho dark. Echo boomed from the cliff sheer on his right, and Lin cursed! it, calling again. Then h& came down on hands and knees, seeking for the trail. H* found it ; dragged tho colt undar shelter, and tethered him. "Guess I'vo got to smell this out wi' my eyelashes an' fingeT-tips," he said, shading a match with his curved hand. "No tracks back ! She's on the hill yet, then. Now " He straightened, and his young face hardened. Babs had been his frank merry comrade these fifteen years. Quite certainly he meant tto leave her next week. But not like this. Not out on the wild range, with every dried watercourse waking to a yellow river ; with the trees breaking before the wind, and the boulders trembling in the loosened earth. Lin hod the daring heart and the quick intuition of tho hill-bred. He knew the ranges by night! and by day, under the heaviness of snow or the hot blast of ,nor'-irest. His eager fingers felt out the rough trades as he climbed swiftly, with shortened breath and shaking limbs — for thesteain. was bitter on a man weakened by a savage day's work. There were visions with him as he climbed. Visions spun out on the roaring dark m colour and vivid memoTy. Visions of Babs, the tomboy, tearing bareback over the hills; of Babs, the girl, mischievous, demure, or altogether provoking, with her stirring songs that roused the wandering' spirit in him ; of Babs, tho woman, clear-eyed, true, and strong, with the work of the house falling into place under her wise rule, and the eager sympathy that he had not troubled to seek of late. And stSll Babs —and Babs— holding him back in the past with her witchery and 1 her sweet womanliness, until, with a sudden cry he stumbled to his knees. "God!" he cried; "I want her! I want her ! I want her ! Itr s Babs. It's not to go away or anything. It's just Babs. I— l didn't know before. But I want her!" The snarl of crocking branches and the scickei of lightning mocked him. He crouched on the wet earth in sudden terror. There wns smell of death in the newly-uprooted soil. Death in the hour when he had learnt what life might be. Then he felt for the tracks again. The red dawn found him yet on the range. Mud had stiffened his soaked clothes, and his hat had gone, and under the light! new lines were cruelly deep on his drawn face. Then he came to the rim of the gully where Rory's hoofs had ripped! away the clay. His hands were bleeding when he reached the bottom, and his tongue was cold in his mouth. Babs lay across Rory's dead body, and the sunlight was gold in her hair. Lin drew her into his arms and kissed her Tips. "Babs," he said, "you've got to come back tto me. If you were dead, you've got to come back to me, Babs!" He did not know if it were moments or hours before she stirred. Then she opened her eyes to him frankly. "Is it to-day you're going, 'Lin!" she said. "Good-bye." Lin laughed, holding her close. "I've been," ho said. "I've found my own life, an', my own devils an' gods. An' they're you, Babs! Just you all the time. We've both found it) all out, dear heart. We've died, and! come to life again. And now " "And now," said .Babs, coming to her feet, with an unsteady laugh. "Now we will go home and; get some breakfast." She swayed with weakness, and Lin caught her. "Home," he said. "Yes, home. That's the bestl word in the world any day." — G. B. Lancaster, in the Australasian.