Short Story

Hawera Star, Volume XLVII, 28 July 1928, Page 7

Short Story

uneasy if she lies awake, as like enough she will do. Let’s make our. way back,

j'-.il I i hap, now.” j The clog gave a short hark of approval, but, with the wind at their Pack, progress was now difficult, and een dangerous. Twice in rapid succession the gale lifted the man from ! his .eet ; it thrust him forward by the (shoulders; with a roar and a rush it ) hurled itself against his legs. Once he was driven with a speed he could not check some 20 yards out of his path into a spongy swamp; again, as ho leaned back upon the breast of the wind, it stayed its pace for a second, so 4 that he fell back upon the ground. For a hill minute he sat there, thinking. None knew better than be the risk any man took who ventured to cross the swampy moor with such a *ml? behind him; and, downhearted as tie was, it was significant that lie was not tired of life and utterly reckless. “Come. Shep. we’ll try the ‘Boggart Hole,’ ” lie said at length, rising to his feet. “It’ll be slow work, hut safer than tins.” , t I It was characteristic of Chris that lie was absolutely indifferent to the presence of unearthly visitants. It never occurred to him that he was doing a bold thing to toil slowly and laboriously down the gullv in the dead of night, 'fie was to be thankful to find himself now completely sheltered from the wind which raged' and whistled above his head, but leaped the ravine and le t it calm. So on they went, the dog leading by a yard or two, picking out the easier path, not so much, perhaps, for his own sake as for the sake of the weaker human brother behind him, who could onlv make slow and painful progress because of the limitations of his humanity. The sweat poured from the man’s brow before long, and lie was fain to erv a halt “What 'is it.lad? Do ye see summat?” -Chris knew the intelligence of his companion, and long acquaintance had made him familiar with the dog’s language and quick to interpret it. He was convinced that Shep suspected the near presence of something living. “Find it, Shep, lad! Find it!” he Si iid.' and the willing animal ran on ahead, harking sharply, uncertainly, as he pro ceded. Chris, too, hurried forward with ears strained to listen. Was he deceived, or had lie distinguished a faint cry for help ? Shep had bounded on and was now lost to sight, hut his barks became' louder and more imperative. and as Christopher climbed swift]v but cautiously over the rooks that blocked his progress the dog came leaping back with the manifest intention of hastening his master’s steps. “What have ye found, lad? What is it. Shep, old chap?” The doo- in liis impatience ran backwards and forwards, as if grudging the time wasted by its slow-footed companion, until by-and-by the mystery was revealed.

In a cleft Detween two great boulders a man lay groaning. His position was not altogether uneasy, for his back was against the smootli surface of the ro. k and his legs were extended upon a. stretch -or level pebbles; but a glance at the drawn brow and closed eyes, and the tightly compressed lips, which opened only to emit a deep, low-toned moan. showed Christopher plainly anou.li that he was suffering severely. That glance had revealed more than this, however. As he bent down he found, with a shock of surprise, that the man was Necf Herridge. The situation was a. new one to Chris, who had no experience to fall back upon, and who was quite ignorant o what ought to be done in the circumstances. But he was not the man to lose his wits, and his sturdy common sense did not fail him. “He’s stone cold. Shep, lad. You lie!; one hand and I’d rub t’other.’’

After a moment or two of vigorous treatment Ned opened his eyes, hut at si. lit of Chris he groaned again, but still did not speak, so Christopher cn.unrated him.

"cheer up. Ned, lad f 1 e aren t dead set, nor likely to be. Shep an’ me’ll soon rub some life into ye. ou just puli yerself together together a bit, an’ when we’ve gotten ye.warm ye’ll ’appen be able to toddle down wi‘ ns into t’ \iilage.” "I’ve broken my leg, - ’ groaned the man. “I cannot walk a step, Chris. 1 «or —blown—right off o’t—top of t’ cliff many an hour sin’—an’ I’m a ’-most dead wi' pain an’ cowd.” ■‘Well, now, I’ll tell ye what.” said Chris, and there was a whole world ol .encouragement in his voice. ‘‘l’ll rub ye a two-or-three minutes longer, an’ then I’ll hurry down into t’ village an get help. It'll none l>e more than two miles from here, .'in’ once I'M out o’ t gully. 1 shall get on finely. J could he hack wi’ plenty more i’ loss than a couple o’ hours.” |* o jjr lurked -in the injured man’s eves as he thrust out an arm and clutched Christopher’s wrist"Ye'll none leave me. I dursen’t he left ’ere Any longer—hv misel’. I shall go mad if thou leaves me i' this Boggart Hole. Thou mustn’t go—l shall In dead —by thou gets back.” "But, Ned. lad,” returned Chris, "ve’ll never think o’ bidin’ here like this while it comes light. But I’ll tell ve what I’ll bide here wi’ ye, an’ Shep shall go’ an’ fetch help. He’ll go sure enough, an’ make the old mother understand.” Shep gave a willing hark, as though he quite gave his consent to the arrangement. and Chris proceeded to elaborate liis . plan. "I’l| write a bit of a note, an’ put, it inside my liandkereher, an’ fasten it round his‘collar. That’ll bring ’em, that will. Ned. Now, where is there a hit o' paper an’ a pencil? By George, I ha'en’t got a pencil.” Gloom settled upon his countenance, but Ned reieved it. . , , . ‘‘There’ll he a hit i’ my jacket pocket, Ibis side—an’ there's a notebook i’ my inside pocket, sitha. Unit s a fine plan o’ thine, Chris. If nobbut Shep 11 understand.” "Shep understand! Ye don’t know Shop! He’ll he down i' ten minutes, ’l’ll warrant, an’ he’ll soon ave sOmcijodv t ack wi’ im.” Besting the hook against the rock, Chris wrote:

"Ned Herridge lying in Boggart Hole with broken leg. Just at ihe i bend. I’m staying with him. Send I help and something to carry him on. I Better get doctor. —Chris.” I He tied the paper securely inside the lied cotton handkerchief and' twisted I the latter firmly round the dog’s collar. I The quick-witted animal seemed scarcely to need his master's instructions,

* and at the word, “Home! lad. Quick!” he moved rapidly away. Then Chris turned his attention again to his Jn I Lon foe. lie was shivering with cold, while great heads of perspir-

ntinn stood on tlie mail’s forehead and i'o led slowly down his cheeks Chris became seriously concerned. He could see plainly that the man might die from exposure before help could reach him, and he .summoned all his resources to his aid. “I mun try to keep a bit o’ life in ’im while they get ’ere,” lie muttered to himself, and,, taking oil his warm overcoat, he spread it over Ned’s body. “There!” he said soothingly, “that’ll ’elp to make ye warm, an’ we shall ’ave ’em ’ere now before long. Yon keep yer spirits up, Ned. You’re a good way oli bein’ a dead ’an yet, an’ you was always a man o’ spirit.” “Chris Jfieki'son,” groaned the sick j mail, “don’t lie a darned fool. Put thy overcoat—on agean, an’ leave me Ito what 1. desarve. Thou’ll get thy deeatli—o’ cold, an' l—l weant ’ev it.” lie made an effort to cast oil' the coat, but Chris restrained him. “Old yer noise, Ned, My overcoat's my own, an’ I shall do as I like wi’ it. 1 shall take no ’arm, man. Not I. I can move about an’ beep myself warm; but ye’re lyin’ still an’ cramped, an’ ye'll ’ave to ’ave it, so there’s up more to lie said.” “Chris. Bend down —1 want to tell ye .summat.” There was shame in Ned’s voice. “I’d been ’eving a glass or two wi’ Keeper Robi’son afore I set off back across t’ moor—an’ I’d a drop o’ brandy—wi’ me, in a flask. I wa’ just ’avin’ a sitp when I wa’—blown over t’ edge. I fancy I wa’ a bit fresh —an’ I didn't know just where I wa’.” “Have ye t’ flask on ye now?” inquired Chris eagerly, “or did you drink it all ? A drop now ’ud do ye a sight o’ good.” “Nay,” replied Ned. “It fell when I fell, an’ I heeard it smash. There wa’ very little in—an’ what there wa’ ’ll be spilled.” . “Aye. ’’appen so, but I’ll just ’ave a look round, Ned, an’ see if by any chance it’s lyin’ about; but I’ll rub ye a bit afore I go; so as just to bring circulation back, like, an’ then I’ll nip off air seek for it.”

For a long time he searched in vain, and with a keen sense of the hopelessness and absurdity of the quest. Yet lie knew that- if he could find the flask, and if there should be even a teaspoonful of brandy at the bottom of it, it might serve to keep the spark of Ned’s li e alight. But the night was still black as a pall, and’ the storm volleyed and screamed above his head. For a moment or two he stood irresolute. Should he climb the steep side? He could surely go a little way and return if the task should prove too great for him. He glanced back. Ned .was lying still, and no sound had reached liim since he left his side. What if he should he dying? What if he should he dead ? Chris dismissed the thought, hut it served as an incentive. “Any man wi’ a hit o’ sperrit ’ud think nought of it.” lie protested to himself. “Tt isn't above five yards to t’ top. If it was me lyin’ there an’ Ned Herridge standin’ ’ere he’d lie up in a jiffy.” But indeed the task was no light one. for the cliff was precipitous, and a fall was almost certain to result in a broken limb. The venture, simple as, it iniclit appear by daylight and under other conditions, was now both rash and quixotic. But Chris persuaded himself that his hesitation was due to his cowardly nature, and that a man’s life depended upon his conquering liis cowardice, so die began to climb cautiouslv.

His progress was slow, for his frozen hands <-oukl scarcely grasp the narrow ledges in the almost perpendicular d ock. A little way above him. however, ho ecu kl see what looked like a broader ledge, where he might rest awhile, and he put forth strenuous efforts to reach it. 'lnch by inch he made his way. until his outstretched fingers grasped {i-r edge of the stony shelf which was his goal, and simultaneous! v an exclamation of pain escaped him. He felt that his hand was cut. and that blood was oozing out; but with a supreme effort he drew himself on to the ridee. and found to his delight that the glass which had caused Jiis hurt was part of a broken flask, and that the bottom of the bottle was only a feu- feet farther away. And it contained a few drops of the precious spirit! It was indeed a pitiful and wholly inadequate supplv. but to Christopher Dickinson that teasnoonful of brandy was more precioiis than fine gold. How to save it, however, was the problem, when there was only that small, irregular segment of glass in which to carry

it. The ledge extended for several yards, and to Christopher’s joy it sloped down gentlv on the left, and brought him near to a huge boulder which lay beneath. How he managed to reach it an I how he contrived to gain the ground he never knew, hut the feat was accomplished, and he hastened to the lame man’s side with the little hr aml v that remained. His first thought was that Ned was Vevond all human aid. for he lay motionless. white, and cold; hut he still breathed. Christopher’s heart heat wi’dlv as he bent down and moistened the Idee lips with the brandv. “Whata fool T was to leave ’im.” he murmured. “Tt ’ud a done a sight more e-pod to 'ave kept on rabbin im. He rubbed him again now. visorouslv. hut the closed eyes did not open, and no word came to 1 give him hope. Bril's more than twentv minutes he per-se-ered. when suddenlv he caught the flint of lanterns, and heard above the tumult of the storm the welcome shouts 0 r men. But- of what happened after tn-t he had no knowledge. When the pnrtv arrived upon the scene fhristooher Dickinson was found fallen forward with his head upon Ned Herlirl'To’s.' chest.

r n the early days of May. two months later, a wan figure of a man sat propped up with cushions and well ( .o-ered with wraps, in a lngh-haeked arnp-had in old Mrs. Dickinson s sunlit garden. , , , , , Tn this Ilia'll region the trees had only donnerl their new spring clothing, hot the flower-heels were gay with aunrnlas. periwinkles, forget-me-nots, and .sweet-«eenfced narcissi. . A s he leaned hack and vested his eves upon the patches of yellow gorse, parti-coloured bracken, and red-hued whortleberry which covered the hillsides across the narrow valley, the gate opened, and a dark-haired young woman came, liall-timidly, up Hie path. .She wore a blue print dress with., a smart bow and collar, and held hei liat in her hand, for the day was warm just then. , , - , , , Verv bounv she looked as she stood in the plow of health before the palelaced man who was creeping slowly hack to life, and her'eyes were full of svinpatliv and bright with ill-restiamed tears.

"Ned told me I should maybe find you here, Chris,” she said, "so I thought—l thought I should like to he one of the first to come to see you. You ’ave ’ad a had time, lad, but we’re all proud of you; and—and—we’re all thankful ’at you’re getting Letter.” Chris held out his hand and pressed

the one the girl extended to him, but he let it drop again. ‘•lt’s good of ye to" come, ’Liza. I’ve seen nobody before, save Ned. It’s a miracle lie’s livin’, but I’m glad he pulled through. He’s only lookin’ poorly yet.” "It was you ’at saved his life. Doctor -says *sp, an’ everybody knows it; an’';ou 'nearly paid for it with your own. An I called you a. coward'! I wonder , if you’ll ever forgive me, Chris?” “YVliy. of course, of course,”, said Chris. “Xou must think no more about that, ’Liza. It’s all past an’ gone, same as' a. dream.” But he sighed as he turned his head away. “But.-Chris,” stammered ’Liza. ‘‘l want to sav that—that I’ve changed my mind about not marrying you.” Chris , looked at her, then down at the ground, with eyes that hardly concealed a smile. "But ve’d never get on wi’ a coward, ’I iza,” lie 1 said softly. She flushed hotlv, and stood there, a bright-faced champion, ready to 1 att’e for Jftve. "T et anyone call ye a coward, Chris, air lie’ll have me to reckon wi’.” She t*>rew herself upon her knees beside his chair and put her arms about him. "Ye’ll not send me away sorrowing, ( Inis; an’ me so proud of having ye (o- my. man.” The smile in his eyes lighted all his face now; as he bent his head down air! kissed her reel lips. "I’m thankful, lass,” he said simply. "Now I’ve nowt to trouble me more.” —\V. Kilev in the "Australasian.”

CHRIS, THE COWARD.

a Murry you, you! I must ha’ been wrong t’ my head when I ever said I would,' an’ I take it back now, anyway. I wouldn’t marry a skulking little coward like you, Christopher Dicki’son; no; not if there wasn’t another man this twenty mile found. D’ye think I’d bewailed ‘Chris the coward’s wife?” Not me! So you can take your old ring an’ find another woftian ’at it’ll fit, so there!”

At these words something bright and glittering was drawn from the girl’s finger and thrown with force upon the clean deal table, whence it rolled on to the floor and beneath the dresser.

She stood with her back to the cupboard by the side-of the high mantelpiece and frowned down upon the, young fellow, who sat with his head in his hands on the opposite side, gazing fixedly into the glowing fire. Her pale complexion was accentuated by the blackness of her hair, and as sh 6 stood there, clenching her hands tightly, the scowl upon her face grew deeper and blacker as the man made no response but maintained bis steady gaze into the heart of the fire.

“Aren’t you going to speak, you fool!'” she inquired at length, stamping her foot and bending forward) until she nearly touched his head; “for two pins I’d shake the life out of your mean little hotly, that I would. Look!” —the angry woman turned and unhooked from the wait a small framed mirror which she thrust in front of his fare—“look in that and see what a coward has crept into your miserable skin, and then sneak off home with yon and come here no more. D’ye hear?”

She was panting now. and her body shook with a' passion she was making no effort to suppress. Chris rose s'owly, whilst the girl watched his every movement with angrv eyes. “I’m goin'. lass.” he said, almost in a whisper. “You’re right, and there’s no more to he said. I was afeard of Ned Herridge then, an’ I’m afeard <> e ' him now. I’m ashamed o’ myself, but I can’t help it. an’ I won’t make»t anv worse wi’ a lot o’ lies, an’ excuses. Is it all over between us, then. ’Liza?” He turned wistfully tow a ills the girl, but she shrank back obdurate

“I won’t keep company with a coward.” she said.

“Then I’ll he going. Good-bye, ’Liza. I know I’m not worthy of you, an’ I wouldn’t like to shame you.” He took his cap and his overcoat from the peg beside the door and passed out into the night. The wind blew bitingly from the north-east, bringing with it a suspicion of snow or sleet, and the villagers were for the most part gathered round their comfortable hearths, so that the steep, uneven road was practically deserted, to Christopher's relief. Near the top of the hill he turned to the left' up a narrow lane, and a moment or two later raised the latch ol his mother's <ottage. A cheerful fire blazed upon the hearth, and his slippers were laid; soles upward, upon the steel fender in front of it. The highbacked armchair stood upon the rug invitinglv close to the little round table on which the supper cloth was spread, and the fare was appetising—fruit, pie. cheese, and home-made bread. His moth’er rose at his entrance and greeted him lovingly. She knew all about liis trouble, for in this moor-edge hamlet news travels quickly, but she had no intention of referring to it. Her svmpathv took the expression of the clean table-cloth, an extra bright fire, an I the fruit pie. “Now. lad. get into thj- slipoers an pull thy chair up to t‘ fire. I’m fain thoii’s come home afore t’ storm breaks. Nay!”—in a tone of deep disappointment and protest, as Cliris opened a drawer and drew out a long, knitted “comforter.” which he proceeded to wrap round his neck— “tliou’s neve* goin’ out agen at this time o’ night! Wherever are ye goin’. lad?” He came up to her, placed both hands upon her shoulders, and kissed the withered forehead very gently twice. “I’m goin’ to have it out wi’ myself, mother.” he , said. “’Liza’s thrown me over ’cos I dursen’t fight. Ned Herridge.; an’ my soul’s as black as the night. I couldn’t touch bite nor sup now; I must go out an’ fight mv battle by myself. You needn’t be feared for me—l’m not goin - to do nought rash, but I’m goin' to try to walk the devil down, air face my future. Don’t you worry, old woman, but just go to bed an’ get off to sleep. Shep an’ nie’ll take care of one another.” It was not the woman’s wav to say anything, though her heart stink within her Site dropped listlessly into her rocking-chair, and did not glance at him again as he left the cottage, followed by the dog, which had risen from the hearth at the mention of his name, and now barked gleefully as they went out into the night.

There was no moon, and the lane was black as the pit, but Chris and Shep knew eery foot of the wav and climbed quickly confidently, alone; the road which led straight up to the moor, rocky and rutted as it was. After five minutes of silence the last isolated farm had been le't behind, and Chris whistle ! the dog to his side. Suddenlv the storm sprang upon them. Out of the darkness the stinging isleet lashed the man’s face with all the strength and fury of a fiend. 'The winds' whistled and howled as they tore past, like a pack of wolves let loose to work destruction. And the man’s spirit responded to the spirit of the storm. Darkness settled down upon his &oul,. and philosophic reflection gave way to hot rage and fierce resentment against fate. He ground his teeth as he thought of the enemy who had come between him and happiness, and cursed the man 'whose mere brute force gave him power to spoil another’s life. Blindly,' recklessly, he pushed bis way over the moor in the teeth of the gale. With set face and clenched fists he fougl/t the elements that opposed his progress, ,\et finding no joy in victory. Soon the sleet teased, but the gale grew in force- every moment and dried the man's clothes upon him as he walked. Mile a'ter mile tliev covered —man and dog together—mitil exhausted Nature asserted herself, and Christopher. stumbling over a mass of tangled ling, fell stunned and prostrate to the ground. It wps a few moments before he was up again, and- the shock had brought him to his senses.

"Shep, old lad. we must be gettin’ hack home. The old mother will be