LOVE O' MIKE

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXX, Issue 21462, 8 April 1933, Page 20

LOVE O' MIKE

By M. McINTOSH '

Down on the river-bed two men laboured/ doggedly. Near them lay scattered an assortment of gear incidental to the lives of those seeking to •win the precious yellow metal from Mother Earth. It was very hot. All that day, and a succession of other days, the sun had beaten down flatly' without wind to relieve the stagnant air.

Great rugged hills shut in the valley; even thp ends where the river carved its course were _ closed .in by the folds of hills beyond. A desolate valley, cupped secretively in the heart of desolate, forbidding country, remote from the sea and all human habitation.

They worked in silence, the oppressive, unpleasant silence of men no longer friends; Robert Marr in sullen Peter Harding in quiet restraint, because of his companion s increasingly difficult and vicious temper. per. Further down the river-bed a little yellow dog skirmished happily among the boulders; now and again he barked; every time he did?so, Marr scowled, he hated the dog. In town the two men had been friends; they had worked agreeably side by side in a city office, until economic conditions had sent their oldestablished business to the wall. Their thoughts had immediately turned to prospecting; the fever had long possessed them, and they lost little time in joining the army of goldseekers spreading throughout the .country. They had in their favour perfect health and fitness, equipment, and more than a smattering of scientific knowledge on the subject, and they struck out for a locality chosen as a result of wide reading, and hints handed down from old pioneers.

Their hopes were high, Marr with plans to return to his native England, Harding with happy schemes in mind for his united family of parents and elder sister. But fortune had eluded /them; not a trace of the magic yellow metal had rewarded them. They ,had penetrated further into the back-country than they intended, following 'a likely river-bed, dried now to shallow" channels of water. The way became rougher, lonelier, and provisions short. And Robert Marr became less • companionable, more surly and lill-tempered as they proceeded. The hard going, the restricted food, the loneliness,. cracked and shed his citybred veneer, leaving only a stark, unpleasant companion. His grievance concentrated on Harding's dog and chum, "Mike"; he grudged its food, its utter devotion to its master, he grudged them both their journeying spirit. The knowledge that they must soon return empty-handed further embittered him.

Thiy day was like the others, profitless. In late afternoon they left the river-bed for the camp, Mike trotting behind. The billy was boiled, and Harding dealt out the provisions for the evening, meal, the dog frisking for its share./

A sudden rush of its eager little body brushed the mug of tea Marr was holding, and the hot liquid splashed his hand. He put down the mug with a cursfe, and lunged out heavily, dealing the dog a glancing blow. Harding stiffened. " Don't do that again," he warned quietly.

" Pah." Marr spat. " Encumbrance, that's ajl he is. Eating food we need. Better knock him on the head and be done with it."

Harding controlled himself with an effort/ "He, at least, is vorth his food, and he'll be fed—and cared for, too," he added significantly. The sneer remained on Marr's face, but he said no

more. / They were sleeping under the stars, in preference to the small tent, for the nights were warm. Marr drew his blanket aside well out of range of the other. It was late before Harding slept, 4rith Mike curled up near by. He awoke suddenly, startled; it was not yet dawp, but the stars were paling. The faint light showed a form, Marr, bending/over Mike with upraised hand. Shocked into instant wakefulness, Harding sprang, twisted the hand that held the murderous boulder, and sent home a crashing left that resounded in the quiet valley. The next minute they were locked in combat, a bitter struggle that mocked, the peace and beauty of the night, and ceased only with exhaustion. Then Harding took the whimpering Mike down to the river bank, and watched the dawn in. When they returned to' camp it was empty; part of the provisions wero gone, all the heavier gear remained; gone, too, was the map by which they had picked their intricate way inland. From the top of a rise Harding discerned his late partner nearing the valley entrance by which they had come; ,he was pushing on frantically. Harding sat with Mike, and surveyed the quiet valley bathed in clear morning sunshine. All the rosy dfeams for his people back home had vanished. " The end of the section, Mike," he Baid, and I had hopes of this place. I still have hopes. We'll come back—later. Meantime, it will he touch and go if we get out; but we'll do or die together, won't we, you scamp?" Mike licked his hand fervently. Harding considered their position. To return the way they had come did not appeal to him. They had penetrated further toward the other coast, with its colourful past of rich golden harvests; with the re-kindling of the fires of golden promise, swarms of ardent seekers had spread from the coast to the far backs, within easier striking distance, Harding calculated, than the trip back to the east. And a route with the added magnetism of virgin' ground. So, travelling light, with the heavier pack secreted against a return visit, they set out for the west, leaving the lonely valley and the river with its northern set, and struck across the hills, with only Harding's elementary knowledge to guide them. The character of the country changed the further west they went; it became rugged, and grander, broken with rocky gorges of foaming waters, and forest shaded ravines. In the distance rose blue green ridges, rich in timber, melting into dim snow-capped peaks beyond. And water everywhere, the dry season notwithstanding, cascade, and stream, and waterfall, dancing in sparkling purity in the sunlight. . Harding was lost «in the wonder of it, at the blue mountain sides streaming with silver ribbons of water, at the tumbled valleys, and the thousand glimpses of hidden, places, shadowed in . mysterious allura, .to be explored

A NEW ZEALAND STORY

(COPYRIGHT)

" For the love o' Mike."

The wild, lovely heart of the country, so little known to its peoples. But they had to push on, a desperate push against time, and meagre provisions, with Harding helping Mike's game little body over the worst places until, about half way to the coast, they were halted by a wide, strongly flowing river, formidable even with the prevailing low waters of the dry season. But the crossing had to be made. Harding tied his heavier clothing into a waterproof pack, and strapped it to his back, and they struck out strongly. Man and dog were both good swimmers, but long before they had reached midstream Harding realised the desperate struggle ahead. The swift current caught them, and swept them downstream. Partly supporting Mike's threshing little body, Harding battled strongly against the torrent. The waters tore at him, sought frenziedly to thwart his progress towards the other shore.

Mike was swept from his grasp; with renewed energy he struck out, grasped the little brown body, then again it was hurled from him, gathered strongly into the maw of the current, and swept away downstream.

Harding's strength was ebbing; with a last spurt he fought clear of the current into quieter waters, and fell exhausted on the bank. There he lay till strength returned, then he set off along the bank to seach for Mike. The scrub scratched and ripped his naked flesh., but he pressed on, torn between dread and hope in Mike's notorious capacity for escapes. His hopes were realised. About a mile down the river widened into shallower waters, and here above the river song there was borne to Harding a faint, but distinct barking. Across the river a sandy spit ran out from a cove overhung with thick bush; a gleaming stretch of sand, that only dead low waters would bare to the sunlight. o.u this point was stretched a < little rusty yellow form; Harding whistled, and Mike's faint bark came back, buthe did not rise.

Somehow the trusty little comrade must be rescued. There was only one way. Harding plunged in. The' swim across again was a nightmare, but he made it, and fell, utterly spent, beside Mike's limp little body on the sand.

For a long time they lay there, inert, with the warm sun beating down on them, and the river rushing by ah their feet. Mike's wet little nose was thrust into his master's hand, but still they rested. Presently Harding became conscious of his surroundings; dully he .surveyed the sandy point with its river spoil, wherein Mike had chosen to be cast adrift, sand, and stones, and river rubble, clean with the wash of constant waters. Subconsciously his gaze focussed on the stretch of the point within his line of vision; vaguely something endeavoured to penetrate his consciousness. His gaze flickered, his eyes shut/—Opened again. He rose on one elbow, staring—and there was a pause in which time Harding stood still. " For the love o' Mike." he said. Mike whined. Never had he heard that tone in his master's voice before. Harding scrambled to his 'feet, all exhaustion forgotten. Feverishly, with heart racing, he sought confirmation of' the almost incredible vision of his eyes; sought with increasing, delirious joy. From end to end he searched the cove, and the sandy point. Then he took a dee]) breath, and momentarily his eyes sought the vista of river and bush, as if with glorious new-born sight. " Well, for the love o' Mike," he said again. .

This time Mike understood, and his rapturous bark rang out. Harding dropped to his knees, and took the damp little bodv into his arms. " How do you do it, Mike?" he said, and thanksgiving permeated the raillery in his voice, " How do you do it? Here we've been searching all these months, day in, day out, and never a sign nor. a smell of gold. You get yourself washed down a river with a kick in it enough to knock out an elephant and get yourself washed up on the richest river pocket that ever drove a m ®" : crazy.' How do you do it, Mike?" ( Mike barked happily, as if to say, 1 ou can t keep a good dog down." A roomy kennel was attached to the new Harding bungalow. To the kennel Mike dragged his many choice bones. Over the kennel, while the Harding family watched happily, Mike's master painted in flowing golden letters