A PLOT FOR A NOVELIST.

Oamaru Mail, Volume I, Issue 286, 23 March 1877, Page 4

A PLOT FOR A NOVELIST.

Jo American paper ft as taken the trotbfo,. out of a real incident that ocjurnii ia th® district, t© sketch out the plot of a tale, which it considers wo aid be rtvy effective if treated in the style of Bret Earte. We extract the denouement i—"The garotter provokes a qttarrel witfii the meek-eyed hammer. A pistol! fight ensues. Here the arnatenr can literally * throw himself/ He can get a acene of confusion and carnage that might yi-val th* famous tight of Gilgal, 4 where they pi&d the dead outside the door by <o*ds, and in which the * short sharp barfe ©f the Dwrrringerr r was heard ' sounding the inell of d* parting souls/ The gambler walk victorious, and " Sandy * stretches himself oat on the . floor preparatory to> dying in orthodox, California romantic fashion. *Short-Cird Bill"' mounts his horse, and in company with "Cherokee Sal/ who- has from that vicinity for ever. .Jn the meantime the tife-bfooct slowly ooaes. from the left side of * Sandy/ AppicrtJ'Ktty" the immmcr's minutes are numbered. The only physician in the ptace is catted, and the following realistic conversation ensues ' Doc, old par, what's the chances T 4 Slim,. Sandy, d——d slim.' ' Has she gone, Uoo- i A world of patfceM burdens these words of the dying mart* Yes, Sandy, she's gone.' Tears swell up in the eyes of the bystartlrrs—eyes that had not known tears since they last gaxed npon the wellknown strap that hung beside the paternal lire-place. ' tkma and left met gone, gone, gone.' A pause, ami a silence in the * Howling Wilderness ' that was tomblike iri its solemnity. " How mat:U longer, .Doc, ken 1 hang on {' ' Just two minutes and three-quarters/ said the doctor, grasping the hand of the dying man. A conclusive shudder passes through the frame ©f the almost defunct bummer. Tuen raising himself on his elbow with a mighty effort, he throws one arm round the ueuk of the doctor, and in pathetic tones, exclaims, "Kiss me, Doc, fc'isa me. I've nothing more to live for now that Sal's gone. Kiss me. Doe, kiss me/ Anotaer Sause. * Time up. Doc I' continues the ying man. "Time's up,' repli; s the doc* tor. ' About time you were dead.' More 2ttestions. The bummer tries to die, but oes not succeed. Finally he gets np, and, going to the bar suutentionsly remarks, "Come, boys, let's tidier. The * boys' ticker. The mystery being explained, it appears that the bullet glanced round * Sand's ' ribs, and came out near his vertebra), instead of going straight through htm as it shoul.l have done. The man lives, much to the physician's disappointment. This magnificent plot is offered to the aspiring amateur free of charge."