DAVE'S REVENGE

NZ Truth, Issue 943, 22 December 1923, Page 12

DAVE'S REVENGE

A Cow-Cooky's Crime (By "Kirto.'O "Ball tip, yer old bag: er bones,'' blurted Daye aud pushed th© cow with crumpled horn into place. Wearily he bent into the slush for the leg-rope and yawningly tied tip a leg. He'd done it for years and he wondered dully how long; Every morning at five he started on the wretched business and every morning at seven the old man came to the door of the cottage fifty yards from the bail and looked to see how many cows had gone through. "Breakfast, Dave," was the matutinal greeting if the six cows were through and if they weren't it wasn't, He was a tyrannous old man. old Haywhiskers, a, man or few words and a heavy fist. Poor simple Dave hated him quietly, hated the brown, sunburnt, unintelligent farm-laborer who was his father. Eighteen years he'd spent round that cowbail and the beyond was something too great and mysterious for him to make the break, but if that old tyrant would only die or go away then, ah then, simple lazy Dave conjured visions of lying ln till six, and of leaving the morning wood sometimes, and even of riding into town occasionally. How ha loathed the dullness of it all. Down where the roadmen were working cutting out the new road Dave found a bit of relaxation sometimes with the workmen and laughed ia hia dull -way at the Joke»— mostly at his expense— of * couple of returned ' soldiers, real bard-doers. In the gang. ; And when they talked of other days over the lire at night, of Mademoiselle from Armentieres, and of days of adventure and travel, Dave listened open mouthed and yearned for a little of the brighter side of life. Once Dave told them of his drudgery — he needn't have done bo, they knew it— and of how he hated the old man. "Why not drop a plug of gelignite near him," one of them suggested. "And nobody will ever know it wasn't an accident." With tales of the wat* ringing ln his ears Daye thought it over and at length asked them for a couple of plugs to do the deed. Righto, they said, he could have It that night, and Dave thought of Dad and his stand ln the doorway every morning at seven. That night he was handed two plugs wrapped up with the fuse inserted, a three-minute fuse. Dave could use it whatever length he rhose. That night he stowed it carefully under the front door step and sneaking to the baok door entered and went silently to bed. Next morning the moment arrived. A couple bf minutes before seven Da*-e ran to the front door and lit the fuse. Any minute Dad would come ani he would hold him in* the doorway for a moment ln a shouted conversation from the ball. One minute passed, then two, and mother's matronly figure appeared at the portal. "Go baok, mother," screamed Dave m an- agohy of terror. "Go back," he yelled inarticulate with fright and madly gesticulating. "Go. back l"

Tranßflxed with horror from a different cause, for ehe was convinced he wab mad, mother stood stock still ln the doorway and screamed for Dad. Dad rushed forth as Dave rushed gestioulatlng insanely to the door step. "Dave's mad," she gasped. "Mad Is he," growled the old hian and seizing Dave by the ear dragged the trembling WTetch to complete the trio on the doorstep, the fatal step. "Don't go over the s' p, Dad," he screamed. "Dammit, get over It yourself," he roared at the lad and booted him over. Dave lay groaning and terrified on the floor. Mother stood weeping into her apron and Dad looked under the step with eyes bulging with horror as *he dragged out the burnt fuse and two objects like twin sausages. Handling them gentle he unwrapped the paper [ and disclosed two parcels of clay. Dave still bendo yawnlngly over the leg-ropes as the morning sun peeps into the balls and Still goes dutifully m when "Breakfast, Davel" bursts on the rural silences. =—=——9