PURSUIT.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 20690, 9 October 1930, Page 22

PURSUIT.

CHAPTER LXXVI. Evan Fawlk had forgotten how night after night he had tried to possess himself of the revolver. The sun had helped Jiim to forget many things. He had forgotten his companion's name and his hatred. Of late ho had come to regard Harley with feelings akin to tenderness. That clever way he had of digging up food and water from the sand was most endearing. Of course, it was strictly contrary to Army Regulations to open Iron Rations, except in cases of extreme emergency. Later on he, Fawlk, would havo to put in a report about that to 31. Q. Someone would be for the mat. Ho had warned Harley, but he couldn t help liking him. although it was absurd to carry friendship to tho extent of linking themselves together with a chain. His wandering thoughts reverted to the {Somali boys.

"Curious —curious!'' he said. 1 1 intended to kill them, but was saved tho trouble. I think I must bo a darling of tho gods, Anvono who sets himself against mo goes down. There was a liov in France —had tho audacity to striko me. - Ten minutes later he was killed by » shell. It was a judgment."

Harley said nothing—with difficulty.

" Countless instances I could give you. fThero was a man—you remind mo of him —I hated and was waiting for—to break. A woman stepped in and did it for me. Broke his heart. Yes."

" Fawlk," said Harley. " That's a story. You mustn't forget it." "I shan't—l shan't." Evdn a little admiration encouraged him enormously.

" When we reach the coast you should tell it to the first white man we meet." " Yes. yes. That's a good idea. How long before wo reach the coast?" Harley scarcely trusted himself to reply. Their destination was so immeasurably remote. " A month perhaps."

It was three weeks sinco they had crossed the river and tho worst of the journey was still ahead. By exerting every ounce of energy and persuasion ho could command their daily speed of travel had never been more than half tho distances covered on the outward journey.

The death of Ashrem and the Somali boy had been a mercy in disguise for the one-man rations Harley had buried mr.de a poor sharing among four, and it had never taken them less than two days to move from one cache to the next. At every issue there had been blows —shrieks —grabbings—throttlings. But for a 4 few special providences they would never have survived so long. The carcase of an antelope disputed with vultures and other lesser things, caught and eaten raw. But from now onward they could look for nothing extra in a wilderness as destitute of life as the dried-up bed of an ocean.

"Oh, come!" babbled Evan Fawlk, •* then we shall arrive to-morrow. That's capital." " A month—a month," Harley repeated, for the fear of his companion going mad was not the least of his terrors. " Suppose," he thought, " I succeed in bringing him to the coast and he is mad —who will believe ?" All this horror would have been for nothing. Better to die out there and never return. Sometimes he had trembled for his own sanity—doubted whether determination and a fixed purpose would apply the power to keep a grip upon his slipping senses. His one hope lay in directing his thoughts weeks ahead or far behind. In the near past and present—in that jangling chain with its ghastly reminders of tragedy and beastliness—in the piercing arrows of the sun —in sand and lava —hunger, thirst and desolation, lay the elements of madness. He did not dare let hi 3 mind dwell upon what Fawlk had done. He knew were be to do so that he would kill him. Every day the impulse to kill grew stronger and stronger. He had to fight it down with cold reason. Over and over again he repeated, " I want him to lire—to live—to live." He willed himself to ration his thoughts, commanding his mind to travel along certain paths and not to deviate. Once each day he looked at Joan's picture in the cigarette case. For Joan was reserved as a special luxury—an impetus. He would take an hour or two they had spent together and review every word and detail of it minutely. He never allowed these thoughts of her to overlap from the moments they were focussed upon into any other period. The realisation of how little of his life had been spent with Joan came as a shock to him. Because of this shortage he schooled himself to be very chary with the Joan memories and to expend them as jealously as he rationed out their miserable supplies of food and water. Never once did he allow himself _to speculate on her present thoughts of him. ire lacked the . courage—was too parched —too starved in body and mind to endure the idea that she might be thinking of hint with bitterness and resentment. He cheated himself with the belief that she, and every friend ho had ever had. were sending out waves of love and kindliness to help him to realise the impossible task he had set himself.

And into these fulso conceits would come Evan Faulk's voice, croaking about this man he had broken. " Turned out of his clubs and tlie girl he was in love with dropped him like a stone.'* At such a time the desi'.'e to choke the life, out of his companion was almost insurmountable. " You've got to live," ho cried aloud, i'to live, to live." And Kvan i'awlk would nod and smile mid think what a capital fellow this v.iis v.lk. dug up food from the earth and looked after him with the tenderness of a woman. '■ Ono day," lie promised, " you shall 1)0 best man nl my wedding. But first J must remember your name—what is } our name V' Jfarley shook his head. Kvan i'awlk said: " When you shake your head bits of flunlight flash off it like steel filings. I can hear them tinkle as they reach the ground. But, perhaps it isn't sunlight—perhaps it's a halo falling to bits." Ho stopped and laughed. " But you aten't an angel—you may bo a devil for all 3 know." Then a strangled protest. •" Walk slower, man, you're throttling rue." CI I.APT Kit LXXVII. A caravan of mules arid camels emerging from tlio gut of a narrow gorge halted in amazement at the spectacle of two grey snorting monsters lumbering toward tlinm over the plain. The impulse of tho natives in charge of the caravan was to turn and run, but the monsters were upon them too soon, and .a white man whose face was seamed with a million wrinkles had grabbed tho leading camel driver by the ear and was putting to him some pointed and uncomfortable que.' I ions. By Allah's gnu# lying was one of this natives' few accomplishments. Moreover, tho lie had been carefully prepared and yas waiting in picklo to be published.

BY ROLAND PERTWEE. (COPTRIGBT.) Author of " Seam' Roaaon," " Swank," " Ratum of Imrjr, etc.

A GRAPHIC AND THRILLING STORY OF DEEP INTEREST.

Ho delivered it fluently and with enough detail to have convinced anyone who was not familiar with the workings of the Dnnnkil mind.

It was a tragic tale of a man who had died of fever surrounded by loving and attentive bearers. All that human care could do had been done. Water poured over the most sacred passages of the Koran had been administered, heedless of the provision which reserves this sovereign remedy for the monopoly of Sultans. In a hopeless attempt to save the life of their dearly loved lord, a mulo had been slain and its teeth roasted. Indeed and indeed no effort had been spared, but alas! without avail.

The scepticism with which this recital was received shocked tho native's sense of propriety to tho length of encouraging him to draw his creese. This course was instantly followed by the rest of his comrades.

Tho white man, however, showed no disposition to retreat. Instead he held up ono arm and crooked his forefinger; whereat a machine gun perched on tho back seat of one of the monsters chopped up a frame of sand and rock chips round tho caravan with a proficiency that argued unusual expertness in tho matter of handling. In tho confusion that followed a fresh hold was taken of the native's ear and the question was repeated. "If the white man is dead—you murdered him?" said the "Chief."

The native grovelled. As Allah was his judge it was not so. And drawing breath he embarged upon a fresh recital that bore no likeness ta its predecessor. " Well 1" said Joan, for among the bagbage borne by one of the camels she had read tho initials H. T. on a kit bag. Tho Chief's courage was not of the kind that shirked a responsibility, however unpleasant and brutal, but he did not meet her eyes as he pointed sombrely at the ground. Joan passed the tip of her tongue over her lips. "I see," she said. Three of the blue-eyed quartette ranged up beside her. The fourth remained at his post by the machine gun. But ho was near enough to have grasped the significance of the chief's gesture. In the bosoms of all four awoke a determination to make it up to Joan in sundry ways. He may have been a good fellow who had died out there in the desert, but for a girl so game, so gallant, so lovely, he cannot havo been good enough. The Chief slipped ono of his dry hard hands into Joan's.

"But we shouldn't forget all natives are liars," he said. Joan's cheeks blazed red and into her eyes camo an expression so terrifying and uncivilised that the natives recoiled before it. She said: "Find a way of making them tell the truth." . Her meaning was unmistakable and as she spoke her fingers tightened so that her nail bedded deep into the back of tho Chief's hand. He shook his head. "Tho truth isn't in them," he said.

One of tho young men wiped his forehead, for he had discovered the startling fact that woman is an unknown quantity.

"Gosh, she must have loved him," he thought. Tho inquisitor in Joan died stillborn. Her hand trailed out towards the kit bag.

"I'd like to have it— there may be something there—that I gave him." The bag was dumped in the back of one of the-cars and mechanically she climbed in and began to sort the odds and ends that it contained. Suddenly her voice rose imperatively: "What are we waiting for? Why arn't wo getting on?" " But, Miss Joan " the Chief began. " Get on—get on," she repeated. The Chief sought the eyes of the quartette and shrugged his shoulders. One would have to humour her—the gesture seemed to say—but what was the use ? Tho bewildered natives cleared the gut of the gorge as the two cars went coughing through. CHAPTER LXXVIII. "Give me that." The words sounded more like a snarl than a human speech. Harley swung round defensively. The cigarette case in his left hand, shutting with a snap, hid Joan's picture from view. A beast ready to spring, Evan Fawlk crouched with his nails digging into the sand. " Give me that."

Harley recoiled a pace, drawing tho chain that divided them tense. The dreaded moment had come.

" Lie down, damn you—l thought you asleep. Lie down, I say." Evan Fawlk's lips were drawn back over his teeth. A dribble of saliva coursed down the side of his mouth. One of his hands went out like a claw.

" That picture —give it to me—it's mine."

Stealthily he crept a foot nearer. With in Harley's" brain ghoulish voices chorused " Kill him. Kill him."

He struggled to silence them, stepping back to keep distance and crying aloud: " He's got to live—to live. Don't let me kill him. Joan—Joan!"

The cry rang and echoed across the baked and tortured lava. "Joan! Joan!"

The flanking hills heard and flung the name back to him. Fawlk heard, understood, and the madness in his eyes was replaced by a sanity even more hideous to look upon. " You're Trevelvan," he said, pointed accusingly—rose to his feet—came onstopped to laugh and came on again. 'Hie chain stretched tightly between them, caught the rays of the falling sun and became a bar of hurnifig metal. United, but out of reach, the one came forward as the other backed. Round and round in a huge circle they went, watchful, vigilant. . All the while Fawlk talked, dreadful disjointed fragments of speech. " The coast —to clear your name—not while I live. You're going to die. Trevelvan, without witnesses. Stand still. No use prolonging the end. Wait for me. Tiied of the chain, Trevelvan ? 11l free von from it—only wait. * " Kill him now." croaked the voices. "No!" veiled Harley in terror —but it was of himself he was afraid. " Free you from it —with this." Dipping I'awlk snatched at a hea\y stone But the stone was anchored to the iron bound earth. With a savage roar he gripped it with both hands and wrenched madly. A greenish brown lob-ster-like insert, startled from its resting place, arched its back and struck at his V ' Th,", sudden pain of that poisoned stiletto gave Fawlk new strength. Harley stepped sideways, but too Into.. 1 t "j heavy stone struck the side of his head and shut out the light. As his consciousness faded he heard a votce roanng triumphantly. But he did not feel the fingers that plucked and fumbled to find hold beneath the collar that encircled his throat, and he did not hear a procossion of agonised screams which rani* out like a carillon in the gathering dusk. (To he concluded to-morrow.)