OUR BOYS & GIRLS.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 934, 24 January 1890, Page 5

OUR BOYS & GIRLS.

THE STORY OF TURKc— By F. H. Theoop. (Concluded.) ‘ We had gone perhaps a mile, when we heard the low i umbling and whirling of the wind among the distant mountain peaks. Turk, who was in advance, turned aud slunk back, his tail between his legs, his great; head hold low upon his shoulders, as I have ijever seen dog do before or since ; he trem. bled all over with fear, and neither by coaxing nor by threat could he be persuaded into fcfia defile before us. “Turk knows best,” Baid JeaD, *‘ let us go back to the refuge while there is time ! It may be an avalanche —or —or something worse!” None of us dared to whisper ‘‘a veurra,” but each silently thought of that terrible wind, which comes sweeping down the mountains, whirling rocks and earth, man and beast, into one horrible abyss, and devastates the mountain as a cyclone does the plain. We made what haste we could, but the noise behind us grew in intensity, thundering from peak to peak, and the air was full of sand and whirling snow. In less time than I can tell it we were evertakeu. I saw the peasants throw therm-elves face downward ; I saw Father Leon drop on his knees in prayer ; I saw Turk leap forward, throwing Jean to the ground and himself on the form of his prostrate master. Then 1 saw no more, tor the snow blinded me. I felt myself lifted from my feet aud dashed to earth, and then I knew the veurra was upon us. Still I was not unconscious. 1 remember wondering why we were not borne away, as was everything around us. I knew that I was conscious, and I knew that by some marvellous Providence 1 had been saved from a horrible death. I tried to move, hut I found myself lying under a narrow ledge of rock ; the snow was jjacked tightly around me ; at each movement I could feel it fall more closelj about me, and I knew that unless I lay perfectly still I should be buried beyond hope of rescue. * As it was, I believed that life for me was over—they could never find me there. By some chance a mass of snow had fallen before the veurra struck us, or at the same time, and I resigned myself to God’s mercy and to the death I had always expected to overtake ine.

* At the hoßpiceall was ready. The night before prayers had been said for those in distress , and as day dawned, five of tho brothers prepared to meet us on the pass ; but before they had started, the veurra was seen, and all exit from the hospice was simply impossible. With agony they watched it rise ; at solemn mass they commended our souls to Heaven ; and as the whirlwind abated they started on their dismal quest for traces of the missing four. For hours they continued their hopeless search ; the refuge was uncovered, ths wind had swept the pass clearer than it had been since winter had set in. They found our breakfast bowls at. the refuge, and knew by the surrounding disorder that the travellers had been found, and resuscitated there ; but beyond there was no track nor trace of any of the party. Disheartened and discouraged they slowly retraced their steps. ‘ Suddenly there was a shout ! One of the party had discovered a drop of blood on the white surface of the eround, then another, and yet another. What could it be ? They fairly ran up the pass, guided by the blood drops in the snow. Not many yards farther they came up with Turk, staggering inch by inch toward home. When he saw them he gave a joyful v hine—his mission was fulfilled. Turk fell exhausted before them. There was no time to stop ; they placed a coat beneath him and went back again. It was easy to retrace their steps now ; easy, too, to find where the. red marks turned from the path in which they had first seen them. Ah, how the dog had struggled to save his masters. The round hole in a harmless leaking bank of scow was stained, too —staine many feet, in to its heart, where lay Varied five human lives. Halfway in they found Jean, hia clothes torn and ragged, showing that the dog had attempted to drag him out. I heard them working long before they came to my ledge. I heard them call my name and wonder why I was not with the others. Heaven only knows how I came where I was. I made, one great effort, my arm pierced through tbe drift, and in an instant they were beside me, pushing away the snow from my frozen legs, chafing my nymbed hands, and bringing back the life to my dizzy brain. Shall I ever forget that day ? I know not how they carried us home. I only know that Turk had saved us, Jean and me. He did what he could for all, but only Jean aud I reaped any benefit ; and when they brought poor Turk back he had a bed made in our dormitory, and used to oome and lick our hands (Jean’3 bed was not far from mine) aud look almost human. His bank was covered with plasters, aud his legs bound up like a wounded soldiei’a ; he had been badly cut by the ice and snow, aud the front paws by which bo had dug himself out were quite helpless. Long after Jean aud I were about he would lie for hours beside the fire. They said the wound in his head could never heal—and it never did.’ Pere Laisier buried his face in his hands and wept like a child. ‘You’ll pardon me, messieurs, that’s all the story of Turk. I can sometimes tell it without breaking down, but not when that boy Jean corner up. Jean was to have taken orders, sir - but that is all past; he can’t stay hero without Turk, and I do not urge it, knowing myself how hard it is. He has a fancy to join Napoleon, some day. I never explain it to him, for Jean is a good lad, and a good guide, but ’ —he touched his forehead significautly as he spoke. ‘ Would he come with me to America, Father?’ I aßked. Pere Luisier shook bis head. * No. Do not ask him, sir. He iB far better here, and I look after him. We

are all better here, even Turk,’ and stooping he caressed the skin at hia feet as if the good dog lay napping there. When we went to our lonely cells I was trembling with excitement, and felt thankful that mine was only a twenty-four hours’ stay in this desolate region. Next day we had a last few words with Pere Luisier, promising to remember the hospitality he had shown us, a last frolic with the dogs, and then we were off. Back into the ‘ Valley of Death,’ over the snow with our hands lull of flowers, and the hoßpice of St Bernard dim in the distance. Jean was disinclined to talk, and we wa'ked on silently. I wished to tell Jean how I honored him for his bravery, and I expressed ic awkwardly enough, while he held my two hands as I said good bye. Five minubea later, however, I saw his blue blouse and cap in the road ahead He had taken a short cut through the woods and stood waiting for the waggon. As we passed he thrust a roughly tied roll under the seat, an.l blurted out fiercely :—‘Take this with you. Pere Luisier gave it me} but I would ratner you took iLaway. I can’t bear it, sir. That is not Turk.’ aud he was gone in the forest before I could jump down to follow him. The roll contained Turk’s skin.

So I came into poaession of Turk’s skin, and I took it with me 'o Paris, t> Dresden, to Munich—where I parted with it, as I shall tell you. A white-haired Englishman sat next to me at ‘table d'hote,’ —a crabbed specimen, I thought—and our conversation was usually upon the weather. One day I spoke of Switzerland. His whole face changed. In an instant wo were talking like old friends. ‘Do you know/St. Bernard?' T asked. His couutenance fell I have just returned from there he answered. I went on a sad errand and I returned sadder than I started. Have you overheard of Turk?’ he continued, and, not waiting for iny reply be told shortly in outline the story I knew so well ; adding, ‘ I was at the hospice when Turk was born. Every summer since i have gone back to see him. He always greeted me and knew me, and many a time bare I offered any sum to the monks to own him ; but they would not give him up. Last winter I heard that he was dead.. I felt as if I had lost a friend. I wrote to ask for his skin, and receiving no reply, I have been to get it myself.’ ‘ Well,’l asked, thinking I must say something. ‘Vv ell, some shrewd American was before ue ! Begging your pardon, sir, it’s a nation given up to gain. I wager the fellow will give lecturing tours, with Turk’s skin, all through the States ! And I—l loved that dog.' I would give a thousand pounds to find the man !’ 1 Save your money, sir,’ 1 answered. ‘lt’s enough that you loved the dog. lam the American ! You are welcome to Turk’s skin !’ I felt as Jean did. ‘ That is not Turk !’ . (The End.)