A LINDSAY O' THE DALE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIV, Issue 13585, 2 November 1907, Page 3 (Supplement)

A LINDSAY O' THE DALE.

X'BLISHED BY SPECIAL; ARRANGEMENT.

BY A. G. HALES. Author of "The Watcher on tho Tower," " Driseoll, King of Scouts." " McGlusky," " .Fair the Apostate," etc., etc. COPYRIGHT. CHArTER I. OUR HISTOaV OUTLINED. Mr name, is Kate Killowen, and I am a native of Ireland, though I left that dear country when I was only a child. My parents had determined to emigrate to Australia on account of a great trouble that befell my poor father.

Toor, dear old dad. I think be was one of those men. who, somehow, seem born to trouble as sparks fly upwards. Hfc was a barrister at one time in Dublin city, and always spoke of that place as "dear dirty Dublin." I have never seen it myself, and don't suppose that I ever shall, for 1 am too old to travel.

It does not. take a. very great deal of money to keep a, womau like mo in the bush, for my needs arc small. I have mv little garden where I grow all the vegetables that I require, and "w>eu. I want fresh meat I can set a snare for a rock -wallaby or a rabbit, as well as any man.

i can handle a shotgun, too, much betfv than many men -who tfai«k they are jretty. good-shots, and parrots and cockatooes are plentiful hereibout*, and the river is full of fish, wWch I can catch with rod and line, or* net, for there if not, much that I do not know about sue* things.

You see. I have spent, nearly all my if© in the bush, in id ia spite of the misery ( have known, I 100 it dearly, and shall do so until I die.

My father was. doing very well nt his profession before ho mixed himself up with politics. I have cuttings from old newspapers by me now which describe him as a grand figure of a man, with a strong, resolute, hand?ome face, a man of wonderful eloquence and winning manners. Sach a man he was when he crossed into Scotland on business, one fine day, and met my mother at Hawick, a place on the southern border. She was a Lindsay, as blithe and bonny a lass as far-famed Teyiotdale ever bred. She came of genfcl* stock, for the Lindsays o' the Dale considered themselves as good as any men in all Scotland.

Long ago, in the old Border raiding days, the men of her family had ridden across the adjacent border to hairy English homes with sword and lance.

Many a weird, wild ride the banks of Teviot River could have told of, had they but tongues to talk with—tales of stolen cattle driven home, of smoking hamlets. Ay, and worse —tales of weeping women creening over dead men, slain, in defence of hearth and home.

Tales of young and bonny English lassies stolen, to become brides to the wild Boots Border cattle-thieves.

My mother used to tell me of one such; lady of gentle birth* and breeding, whom one of her feixboarss stole, at the point |©{ the sword, and carried home on the front of his saddle and made his wife.

. So that mother had a strain of English In her blood, and when she married mr father, his children had all three strains As their. veins, English, Scots, and Irish; and all gentle blood, for my father came '©fa great house—a house that was always %little bit unlucky. The son* were ever hotheaded!, impulsive, wayward, and brave. Whenever Ireland was in trouble, men used to say a Killowen was sure to be in the thick of it--a headstrong lot they "were, I fear, if the truth must be told, fond of riding, of'fighting, of dancing, drinking, and making love to fair women. And it was only natural that my father should have that in his blood that made him kin to ail who had gone before him.

That was why he could not go steadily on with his professional duties in the Dublin law courts, but must mix himself up with a wild scheme for the emancipation of Ireland, which came very near to bringing his handsome form to the gallows.

He fled from Ireland, taking my mother and me with him, and came to Australia"; and be would have settled • down peacefully at his profession, I think, if they would have let him, but there was a black mark against him, and the law courts of Australia were closed in his face.

I was only a baby 'then, and did not know of the sorrow that was eating into my mother's heart. I knew it later, though, and shared it, as women always mast share the shame and pain and misery that come to their own folks, if they are worth their salt.

.My parents had brought but little money to the land of their adoption, and very soon actual want was staring them in the face. It was at this time that my brother Dave was born ; he is to be the central figure of this story. He was born in a hut a few miles out of Melbourne city. . I have heard my mother say since, that at the time there was nothing in the hut but a crust' of bread and a bowl of water. We were so dreadfully poor that no doctor could 'be obtained to attend to my sick mother, but' my father got an old black gin, who was camping near our hut with a portion of her tribe, to come and nurse her. 1 don't think that the poverty of those days hurt me much, because I had baby Davie to watch-and play with. Oh, how I loved him! I loved him with all my heart and soul the first day the old black gin laid him in my lap, as I cat on a heap of rushes by mother's bed. I loved him later when he grew to be / a great, fine lad. I idolised him when he became a man, tall and straight and beautiful, with a lonj;; yellow beard flowing down his chest like a stream of living gold ; find I loved him when I knelt and cradled his poor head in my lap as he lay wounded to the death in Quondong Glen, with half a dozen bullets in his beautiful : body,

Davie, Daviewas there ever another man like my brother Dave? I don't want to dwell too long over the history of those Mrly days, but I must e'en say enough to make my tale plain at the outset. Father tried to get' work ; ho was not the kind that shirks daily labour, but just then there was no work to be got, for convict labour was plentiful and cheap. But after a little time there came news of many desperate bands of convicts breaking bounds and becoming outlaws. They w ere for the most part criminals of the worst type, murderers and desperadoes, with records too black to be put in print, »nd when they took to the bush they became little better than wild beasts.

The Government wanted men' for tho mounted police force bold, hardy, fearless men, who could ride and shoot.

Father applied, and was accepted; he ( had been a hunting man in Ireland, and I have heard mother say that even in that i | land of fearless horsemen he had been noted for Ins courage and skill. He was a big man, but he had a way of sitting ou a horse that made him look as if uhw* than half his weight kept clear of the saddle. Father was in'the troop for three J'«ars, and during that time had many encounters with the bushranging gangs who were plundering aud killing the defenceless f'ttlert in- the outlying parts of the coun-' 89^-■ ■ : • . -

He had taken kindly to the life from the first—the long rides in tho saddle, the adventure, the danger, the camping-out, all appealed to some instinct that had lain dormant 1 within him.

Then my brother Bryan was born, dear, wayward, reckless Bryan; and after Bryan came Kenneth, our fair-haired, gentle laddie, with the big blue eyes and tho voice of a wild wood-bird. .

Father was made a sergeant in the mounted troopers about a year after God sent Kenneth to us. He had been promoted for an act of splendid bravery whilst defending an inland homestead from one of tlio worst gangs that had ever ranged the country. I remember that everyone was talking about it at tho time, and mother was as proud as she could be, though she did not say much; she never did have much to say at any time. God bless her! She was then one of the bonniest-look-ing women I have ever looked at, l/ill and supple, ami graceful as a girl, but full of a gracious dignity that came to her as an heirloom from the Lindsays o' the Dale. Father used to joke with her, and say that she was far too proud and stately to be dame to a common sergeant of policetroopers. She ought to be mate, tor an earl. And she would blush and laugh and hide her head on his big chest like any girl, and I think she was as happy as ft is possible for any woman to be in this world.

She adored her husband, and was proud of his courage, his cleverness, and his good looks. And I know that she never gave any other man more than a passing glance (excepting her own sons) in all her sweet and blameless life.

As for her children, she -was a perfect slave to them, and counted all she did for them a labour of love.

Things were, in this happy condition when one day a man rode up to the front of our pretty little home, and dismounting, hung his reins over the picket fence- that guarded our garden. It. was an inspector of the mounted troopers named Vernon. I -have heard since, that that was not. his real name, but. one ho had assumed when he left England after some scandalous exploit. Ho Mas known to possess immense influence, with the authorities in Melbourne through his connect ions in England. 1 can recall him as ho looked that first day, as he sat in our cosy parlour talking to my mother and father—tall and slight. with an indolent maimer oi" speaking and carrying himself. His face wax handsome, hut his eyes wore hard and cold, and his mouth very cruel. Child though I was, I disliked hi from the first moment I looked at him.

After that first visit lie seemed to be eternally at our cottage and what seemed more strange still, he always seemed to have some business connected with the police foreo for father to attend to, and this business took father away from homo a very great deal of his time.

I began to notice, too. that my dear mother's face wore a worried look whenever Mr Vernon rode up to our garden gate. She would never permit herself to be in the bouse alone with him for a moment; if I were not there when he came, then she would come to the door and call me, and tell me to bring my book and sit at her knee, and she would keep mo there until ho took his departure. One afternoon the postman brought her a letter, and I shall never forget her face as she read it. White as death she turned, then she hid.it in her bosom and went about her household duties, looking as I had never seen her look before.

That evening father and Mr. Vernon came home together, and , father took her white face between his hands to kiss her as he always did. But mother drew away from him, and drawing herself up very proudly, took the letter from her bosom and handed it to father without a word.

Then I saw every atom of colour leave Mr. Vernon's face, and ho gave mother a look full of hate, and turned to walk away. ' x Father just glanced at the letter, and then he uttered a low savage cry that was like the full-throated growl of a mastiff. Ho sprang after Mr. Vernon and thrust the letter under his eves.

"Did you write that letter to my wife? did you, you cowardly.hound Vernon said something about " insolence to a superior officer," but father caught him by the neck and forced him to his knees yi-hen he culled to "little Davie and told him to bring him his horsewhip that was hanging behind the sitting-room door. Mother lifted it down and gave it to Davie, and he ran down the path with it to father. Then we children, clinging to mother's skirts, saw Vernon get the most terrible beating I ever saw a man get, and I have seen convicts flogged many a time. Father picked him up and threw him over tho gate at last, and when he got into his 6addle he must have been more dead than alive, and his face was dreadfully disfigured by the whip. The coward gathered up his reins in one hand, and shook his fist, not at father, but at mother, ere he rede slowly away. I don't know what was in that letter,* but a month afterwards father was turned out of the mounted troopers on a charge of drunkenness, though he had scarcely tasted liquor during the whole time we had been in Australia.

He knew well enough that it was Inspector Vernon's work, but he was powerless. After that he got work as an overseer on a cattle station, and he took us all with him; and it was then that I learnt to ride, and so did little Davie. •

Two years later a mail-coach was stuck up by bushrangers not very far from our station, and father was arrested as an accomplice of the desperadoes who did the " sticking up." A criminal who had turned Queen's evidence swore that father had found the gang horses from the station. We all knew that this was the work of the man Vernon, but nothing could be proved against him. Father was acquitted, but, being now a marked man, he could get no one to give him employment of any kind, and so he purchased a waggon and a team of horses, and one or two saddle hacks, and made his way from one station to another breaking in wild horses, rounding up cattle, sinking wells and dams, and splitting trees for posts for fencing-in sheep runs. It was poor paying Work, and the company we met were of the worst type, mostly ticket-of-lcave men from the penal settlements. Be wc did not have any more to do with these folk than wc were absolutely compelled to. Father had purchased a couple of tents, and these, with the waggons, were homo to us. But as soon as we seemed to be getting nicely settled anywhere, and the station folk were trying to like and trust us, our vengeful enemy, Inspector Vernon, would be sure to turn up and have something to say to the station owner ; and immediately afterwards poor father would be told to come and draw his cheque, and when this was done he would be informed that there was no more work for him on the station.

It was bitterly hard for him, but there was some excuse for the squatters, as the station-owners were called. The bush was overrun with dangerous criminals, and the squatters were entirely dependent upon the police both for information as to a man's real character and for protection.

It used to make my blood boil to sec Vernon ride past our camp, after he had been on one of his cruel errands. He would look into father's face and smile a cold, devilish smile, but I used to observe that he always rode with his hand on the butt of his pistols at such times. I know now that he was trying to madden father to make him do some desperate deed, so that he might either shoot him down or cause him to be outlawed. I think he would have succeeded if it had not been for mother. She used to read the Bible and pray, and sing dear old hvmns in her quaint Scotch dialect to us all, and then, with a queer little touch of worldly vanity, she would remind us all that we were gentle . born, and she would hold forth on the high estates of the Lindsays o' the Dale and the Killowens of County Armagh, and bid us do nothing to make our kinsfolk across the sea blush for us. She would say all this very proudly, but her eyes would be full of tears and her sweet voice quivering with pain. It was that, only that, which kept father straight; his love for her was the master passion of hi.-i life, else it would have gone hard with the man who was trying to drive him to destruction. It is a long, long time ago now, end the wild-flowers bloom above the graves, of those I love; but even now my cheeks burn with the shame as I think of the "persecution of that time.

One clay we had reached a good-sized inland town, for father hoped to get work for himself and the boys from some of the station people ho knew would be there, for there was an important cattle sale at the place.

Just as we got close to where the crowd was thickest, who should come clattering up but Inspector Vernon and four or five troopers. He drew bridle beside my father, and insolently commanded him to stop his waggon.

I saw the veins on father's neck swell until they looked like cords tinder the tan,' but he gave the word to the. boys. Davie and Bryan were big lads by this time, good at any kind of bush work, and great horsemen.

# " Search the waggon, men. and search it thoroughly," commanded Vernon, lifting his voico so that every person in the vicinity could hear the loathsome order.

"What are you searching for?" asked my father in his clear ringing voice.

" The post office at Glenulda was stuck up yesterday morning, and I am searching for bank-notes, the numbers of which are known," was the taunting reply. It was a terrible insult; but in those days an inspector of police had despotic powers, and could do •as much as he pleased. We stood by, and saw our goods thrown out in the road, whilst a grinning crowd drew round us in a close-packed circle. Our boxes were turned inside out, and even my mother's wearing apparel and mine were flaunted in the faces of the crowd common bush crowd.

Of course, they found nothing. Then, with a look of triumph on his face, Vernon culled his men to search father. I heard the breath come from his broad chest in deep gasps. I saw his eyes turn bloodshot.

Vernon saw it also, and backed his horse away whilst he half drew his pistol. This act of cowardice, I think, predisposed the crowd towards us, for there is nothing on earth the Australian busii man despises liko want of personal ourago.

A jeering laugh rang out from scores of bearded lips, and Vernon Hushed crimson, for he knew the meaning of it. Mother went close to father's side and said. "For my sake, dear." And then ho stood very still and held his head up proudly; and mother, with all the blood of the Lindsay o' the Dale awake in her, held her head even higher than he did, and I do not think there was a man or a woman standing round us there who, looking at. the pair of them, did not know tuat they were innocent.

They searched father as if he had been a common felon, searched him there in the highway. A cold, malignant smile lit up the face of Vernon. Pointing to me, he said, " One of you had better take that girl to the hotel and have her searched. Yon can get some woman to do it if not, let a black gin search her." At that Davie stepped forward, a fine, big,' strong lad who, when his temper was roused, had a queer way of dropping Scotch phrases and words into his conversation.

" Mon," he cried, "if ye ken when ye air weel off, ye'll no go too far. Lay so much as a finger on ma sister Kate, an' a will horsewhip ye the noo in front o' the folk, as ma feyther horsewhipped yo the day ye insulted ma Brother.' A smile of joy ran over father's poor strained face as he heard Davie's bold words, and looked at his wiry, well-knit figure. I saw Vernon's hand that held the reins shake with rage. The crowd swayed about as if it would rush; then a voice cried—

"It's an infernal shame that a policeofficer can do this kind of thing without a warrant; it's as bad as btishranging." Vernon swung round in his saddle and looked savagely at the man who had spoken. "You need not scowl at me like that if you are an officer,'" sneered the man.' " I'm the owner of Nctley Station, and every man and boy here knows me; so keep your black looks for those who fear them."

"I'm trying to carry out the law, sir," was Vernon's suave reply. You are doing it in a deuced highhanded manner, then," was the retort; "and I admire that youngster for giving you a piece of his mind."' ■ .paying off an old. grudge,", shouted someone in the circle: "he knows the stolen notes are not with these people." "Look at his face," cried another; "he's too much of a cur to go near a man if he thought he was a bushranger." Then the feeling of the crowd veered right round in our favour, and, seeing that this was so, Vernon called his men off and rode away. But it was horribly humiliating all the "same to be stopped and searched like common thieves.

The owner of Netley station came across and spoke to father very kindly, and in the end offered him some work on one of his out-stations. "Those are a couple of nice, handy boys of yours," said he; " and if you like I'll find a job for them." It was then that mother spoke up. " Give the boys work with their father," she said. " They are very young, and I would not like "them to "mix with any chance-met strangers who may come in their way ; it is so easy for boys to pick up bad habits." The squatter smiled. "Very well," he answered, ',' the boys can stay with you; there is a lot of work on the out-station." Then, fixing his eyes on Davie, "That's a grand boy," he cried ; "if I ever have a son I hope he'll be such another as your boy." Poor mother was quite beside herself with pride when she heard the squatter praise her boy. "He's a good laddie, thank God for it; and his brother, Bryan, is a good laddie too," she added quickly. The squatter looked intently at Bryan, and then he laughed. "I'm a pretty good judge of men and boys; and if I am any judge that youngster will be ' hot coffee' when he's a few years older." "What may you mean by that?" asked father, whose lovo for wayward Bryan was almost idolatry. "Tut, tut! man: he carries his character in his face; and he'll be a fighter and-a rover; he'll love the wild paths in life; the rough ways full of danger will please him better than the smooth paths of peace. He lias that about, him which tells me he will make a great rider, and be a. matchless bushaian. Horses and cattle will be meat and drink to him. If I meet him in a fewwars' time, when he finds his full strength, I'd rather meet him as a friend than as an enemy; for "he is of the kind that never forgets and never forgives." Mother and I looked at the speaker in astonishment to hear him tell Bryan's char-, acter so correctly ; it seemed uncanny to us, for Bryan was just what the squatter had painted. I suppose it was father's wild blood, and the blood of some old Scots Border cattle thief mingling in his veins; anyhow, he was never so happy as when he was dashing at full speed, stockwhip in hand, down some mountain-side at the heels of wild horses or wilder cattle. Nothing that breathed could daunt Bryan. When he quarrelled, as ho often did. with the bush boys, he would fight until he won, or else fight on until he fell helpless, a broken, bruised, disfigured creature and as soon as he was well he would go off again to search for the boy ho had fought with to renew the battle, for his courage was indomitable. But he lacked the little, loving ways that dear old Davie had; not that he was -hot affectionate—he was a loving boy—but he always kept a lot inside himself. He had not Davie's sound judgment, either, nor the same sweet unselfishness; he was very fond of Davie, as ho proved in the dark days that came later; but the one creature' on earth that he worshipped was little Kenneth. I have seen a lot of what folks call love in this life, but I have never seen anything vet that equalled Bryan's love for our songbird. Kenneth. Ay, and it grew with his growth, expanding and increasing with the years, until mother used to say that it wasn't safe for the sun to shine on Ken for fear of making Bryan jealous. Little did we dream, in those days, that this love was- to make an outlaw, a bushranger, a wild man. whose hand was against every man, and every man's hand against him. ..:<•■ ' We passed a pleasant year on the outstation. Father and the boys used to go away rounding up the cattle that had been allowed to run wild in the mountain ranges, and leave mother and little Kenneth and me at home in the log building. It used to be .a joy .to us to work for them.. I had plenty to do, not only.in the house, but outside, for I had to tide on. all kinds of errands, and many a-good scamper I had on my marc, which was Davie's gift to irMi,

Kenneth had a. bush pony that Bryan had caught wild in the scrub. He had broken it in until it could do almost anything except talk, for Bryan was a famous nana, with horses. ..,, " . ,„,_,.,. r ia Kenneth would como galloping towards me when we were out together, and prctena. to fall out of the saddle, just sliding down in the grass, for that t was one of the lirsitricks Bryan taught him. , The pony would stop, wheel round, and trot up to the little man and miffaVlum. Then Kenneth would climb up the pony" legs into the saddle,, pretending he, «a wounded bushranger, and the pony www tor off with him, keeping up a gait that was as easy as that of a rocking-horse. At other times Kenneth would cry to me to play hide-and-seek on. horseback, ana, x would give him a start, always turning; m} face away until he.and the pony disappeared. Tl4 he would cooec until I ™ red ,> and the game would start He used to TKW his pony to a high patch of grass climb out of the saddle, touch .creature with the edge of his hand behind the knee of the near fore-leg, and down the pony would Srop and lie'upon its flank, quite hidden from view. It was another of Bryan s tricks; he called it " a bushranger hiding from troopers." ' _ ' „ Once when father and the boys were awav looking for a particular mob of cattle, mother and I had a dreadful fright. I was shaking the crumbs out of the cloth after breakfast, when my dog damson bean to bark and run forward. I looked and saw a stockman coming towards our house at breakneck speed. I; knew the moment I saw him that something was wrong, for the Australian, bushmen never - race then horses at top speed except when cutting out" cattle, or in time of danger. I thought it must be someone coming to warn us of the outbreak of a bush fire and glanced instinctively at the sky; but the was no unusual glow amidst the deep blue of the heavens. I called loudly to mo hoi, and she came running to my side, and together we watched the rider careering to- * The horse was a big. yellow-bay animal, and the man was small and- slight,.with.* short, crisp beard. He rode splendidly, and the horse was doing its best; we could see the wide-opened nostrils, its big stating eves, its powerful legs gathering under it at each fresh stride, and we knew the moments were big with fate for us. i ■■ I saw mother clasp her hand to her heart. " I fear it's ill news of your father, lassie, she exclaimed, for that fear was ever uppermost in her mind; she feared est his temper should give way under the strain ol Inspector Vernon's continued persecution, and that he would do some rash act in the whirlwind of his passion, as many another man has done, and will do again. I slipped my arm around her; and held her bo, until the stockman, riding like a whirlwind, lifted his horse over our fence with a splendid bound, and drew bridle close to us. . , «i't,«i "Tell vour husband,' cried he, that, the Malice scrub blacks are out on the warracket; thev have burnt Mcintosh 8 store to the around, and killed the whole family. Thev are led by a nigger who was once, a black trooper under Inspector Vernon; he has dropped his uniform now and gone-back to his tribe. There will be a lot of blood-. shed before this is all over, for this nigger has a great influence amongst his people, because ho has been trained as a trooper--a thundering big mistake to teach these treacherous hounds too much, I-thins. He was rattling on, when mother said— "Mv husband and boys are away in the mountains, mustering the 0 V mob; there is no one here but my daughter and myself and mv little son." "Whew!" whistled the stockman; " that's bad hearing, mistress." He screwed himself round m the saddle, silting with one knee drawn up so that his elbow could rest upon it, whilst his chin rested in the hollow of his hand. All at once, a thought flashed into my head. ~ ,„ "Where's little Kenneth, mother.' t " He went as far as the 'One Tree Dam on his ponv about an hour ago, to see if the red cow and her calf had strayed there." , . , ~ - " The ' One Tree Dam' is four miles from here," exclaimed the stockman, who evi : dentiy knew our run pretty well. " Yes," whispered mother, with a white face. The stockman knitted his brows and did a lot of thinking in a short time. At.. last he looked very hard at me. Can you ride well, missie?" said he. "Yes ; I'm in the saddle half the day the venr round." \ , " "That's a good job. Have you a good horse handy?" . "My mare is in the stockyard dose handy, and she's pretty good with my weight in the saddle." Give me your saddle and bridle. . I'll go and bring her, missie, for you must ride far and fast, and find your father. Tell him to waste no time in getting home. I'll go and- find vour brother who is by the •Ono Tree Dam,' and bring him in, and then I'll take care of your mother and the homestead until your father comes. My name's Jim Burgess; I expect your father, will have heard of me." I looked at mother, and she nodded her head ; so I ran. and got saddle and bridle, And Burgess brought in my mare. "God Wests and guard you, Kate," murmured mother, as she gave me a parting hug. '"Don't tarry for anything, lassie; your mare can jump, so ride as straight as the crow flies. Your father will camp at the Sphinnefax Gap to-day, for he made his plans before ho left. It is 13 miles in a direct line, but it's 20 by the gates and tracks." I called out, "Good-bye, mother," and then I went off on the marc at a hand gallop, my dog Samson following close behind us. As I. galloped past the "red dam" .1 could see four or five emus drinking there, so I knew that little Kenneth had not come in that direction. They went off as soon as they saw me, trotting, with their graceful action, at great speed. '~ This reassured me as far as. my personal safety was concerned, for if the blacks had, been about, the emus.would have been on the move, for they are shy creatures, and very wary. I jumped my mare over the big fence 'at the south boundary, and went fiyin'c up Stanton's Gully, which had once, been the home of a bus'hranging gang. I did not spare the mare, because I thought, of mother and Kenneth, and of what might happen if the blacks got to our home' be-. fore I could bring help. I knew how cruel and pitiless they could be to settlers, and I knew also that none were «o bad as the half-civilised blacks who went back to their tribes. ,

I had to ease the mare near the top of the rise, but I sent her along when I came to a bit of level ground. All at once I heard a shrill cooee, the bushman's call always. With «a scream of joy I threw the mare bacfaen her haunches, and an instant later I saw Bryan racing towards mo on his stock-horse.

"Hello, Kate! what's up?" he. shouted as ho came near me. I told him in as few words as I could use.

He was crazy with impatience, and spoke to mo in a savage way (or dawdling, and I know my eyes were full of tears. " Kenneth," he gasped, "little Kenneth out on the run alone, and the blacks on the war-racket." Then ho picked up his reins. " Father and Davie are over there, near tho bottom of that big hill yonder; they are branding calves: you'll find 'em." He pointed with his stock-whip. " Come with me, Bryan; it's not safe to ride back alone." "I'm going to save little Kenneth," he called out. "I know the black trooper who's at the head of this mob, and he's a devil." At that he drove the spurs into the flanks of the stock-horse, and went down the gully like a thing demented. If the horse had slipped, or stumbled, or crossed its legs in that headlong race down the rocky gorga, ho would have been killed; but -I don't think Bryan gave a thought to that —it was Kenneth, little Kenneth, with him then, as always. He had only a horse, a. stock-whip,, and a revolver, but he would have gone on just tlio same if he, had been unarmed, to give his life for Kenneth. I found father and David easily. It was characteristic of Davie that, as soon as they saw me coming he should think of the' right thine to do. "Kate hasn't come for nothing, father," was all he said, and ran to catch the horses. He had the saddles on two of them by the time J got to their camp, and was leading another. ."What's the. third horse for?"' asked father. ' •...''■ "For Kate; her mare will he quite done up' when she gets here," answered Davie..... I told my errand quickly.

"Where is Bryan, 1 , Dave?" demanded father. I told him how I'had met the- hoy, and how he had dashed off to help in the search for Kenneth.

"I wish he had come and got his rifle," father muttered; "but the boy will take care of himself, hot as his blood is." Dave had slipped my saddle off the dear little mare and,put it on the fresh horse, and in a few minutes we were galloping towards home.

Father carried Bryan's rifle slung on his back; his own he held in his right hand. -As we ncared the big log fence that marked our inner boundary, father called to Davie and asked if the horse I was riding could jump. f ''Like a kangaroo," was Davie's reply. 'Let him have his head, Katie," he called.

I nodded and smiled to my brother, and we rushed the fence breast to breast. A c did not spare the animals on that run for home'; there was too much at stake, Wc caught sight of the homestead at last, and there was mother at the door peering out under her hand, but no sign ot the stockman, or of Bryan, or Kenneth. But a moment later we saw the stockman come galloping from the opposite direction ; he was half-turned in his saddle, and shooting with his revolver at something behind him. (To be continued.) [Another instalment of this very interesting story will be given in these columns on Monday next, and will be continued daily till its conclusion.]