SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 2665, 12 April 1905, Page 82

SHORT STORIES.

OSMAND'S MATE,

(For the Witness.)

By A. M. Andrews.

"What's the trouble, Mike?" asked Ned Osmand, drowsily, feeling a little surprised to -sec his mate, O'Mahoney, standing near his bed, and reaching across the pillow for .some object hanging above it. "I just want to see your watch, Ned."

"My watch?" "Yes," answered Mike. "Mine has stopped, ajid I must know the time. Thought you were asleep/ he added, "and tlidn't mean to disturb you." "Well, it happens," yawned Ned, "that you didn't disturb me. I have been awake the last half hour. Who the deuce could sleep," he continued gruffly, "with old Sinoko howling round and making such an uncanny row?"

"Strange I never heard him," said Mike. "You iiever heard him?" repeated Ned, %rith astonishment. "By George, you're a taight-y sound sleeper — an earthquake .wouldn't rotise you." "I was aroused all the same," replied Mike, quietly, "but not by Smoko. Did >.ou— -did you — hear anything else, Ned?" he asked, with some hesitation.

"No," returned Ned, curtly ; "there was nothing to hear. Tf there had been I'd have heard re plain enough It was jolly cold though all of a sudden, I can tell you that."

"It's after 1," said Mike, as he replaced the watch— -then, as if speaking only -to himself, he added, in a low, reflective tone, "Yes, it is the 3rd of April." "If it had -been the Ist of April," observed Ned, crossly, "I'd say you had started fooling early." "Fooling, is it? ' All, there's no fooling about it,"said Mike gravely, as- ibe turned away. "There's no points in losing rest for nothing," rejoined Ned. "Let's get to sleep igain — the sooner the better." The quicker to attain this end, Ned rolled over, and ensconced himself snugly 'neath his coverings. He did not notice lhat O'Mahoney, instead of turning in, was completing his- attire, by putting on his boots and coat. At the sound of the dcor opening Ned looked up, and had just time to -sec the strange, unusual expression on CManoney's face. Mike had always been in such perfect health and spirits, bright, and cheerful looking. Now his aspect was .white and haggard, and his lips firmly set. As he opened: the door he glanced back. In the deep grey eyes there was a reflection of sadness and pain, so marked that Ned was startled.

"What's. the matter, Mike? Where are you going?" "I must go out— out into the night — it is clear and starry," answered Mike, as ihe passed on. "I cannot stay here."

Ned was puzzled. Despite Mike'-s pallor, be felt assured it was no physical suffering that troubled him, and yefc, so far as he knew, nothing had occurred to occasion Mike any mental worry.

"It's an unearthly hour to turn out,"' said Ned to himself, "but I'll have to get op and follow him — I don't like that look." Ned Osmand and Mike O'Mahoney had been mates for some time. At the mining claim known as the "Old Fivers'* they were co-workers, and shared together all the "residential comforts"' to be found in what ■is known as a "bacher's hut." Mike was a most persevering, unflagging toiler, and one whose notably cheerful disposition made him a genei-al favourite.

"I can't think what's come over him," mused Ned. "He was as jolly as ever before we turned in at 10 last night."

Dressing quickly, he hurried out, but could see no trace of Mike. 'Neath the calm, clear starlight all Avas still.

"He can't -have gon<* tiown the flat," thought Ned : "he must have turned up the gully. I won't coo-ee — I'll just go nlong."

He listened carefuly as he. proceeded for *ny sound that might tell of Mike's whereabouts, but for some time the silence was nnbrokeri.

Suddenly the loudly-uttered wonis, "Oh, Colleen, Colleen !" almost startled him. The voice was like a plaintive note of great sadness, a cry of half-suppressed, yet fleeply-penetrating grief.

Looking in the direction indicated, Ned saw Mike standing about 40 yards away, partly hidden by sonic manuka scrub. His arms were folded, his bead thrown slightly back. In his thoughts snd in his upturned gazo it was evident that surroundings held for. the time no place or part. "Oh, Colleen," he exclaimed, in a tone of tremulous sadness — "Colleen, asthore, it is not the ocean, but the cold earth, between us now; I know it, aroon, I know it!"

Ned listened, surprised. He was about *fco speak, but in Mike's voice there was a Jpathos and earnestness that for the time Restrained him.

"Oh, asthore! asthore!" continued Mike, >nd the words rang out with even a deeper cadence of sorrow — "that good-bye will be in my Iheart for ever. It was your own eweet lips" speaking, Colleen, and" the love .was in your eyes, aroonj but, ah! your lands and your lips were cold, asthore — Scold."

"It beats me,'* said Ned. "Is he walkting in .his sleep, and dreaming? But no, he can't be— ha was awake all right a ayhile ago."

* "Colleen," repeated Mike, slowly, with an Jittftrance of bursting grief, "that kiss will Scling to nay lips as long as life lasts ; \t is no dread or foreboding I feel, asthore : Jny heart has heard, and learned the truth." "No use saying anything to him at present," decided Ned. "It seems as if he ~£Kin§ out to 3>e alone^ so I'll get back ira-

noticed. Oh, he'll he safe," Ned assured himself, though, he reflected, " It's «rtainly an odd notion that has struck Mike, and it's the first time I ever knew him act queer ly."

It was nearly two hours after Ned's return when he heard the door gently open and O'Mahoney enter. The light had burned down, but without even striking a match Mike quietly crossed to his berth., and turned in. His interval of rest was a short one. In the limited domestic establishment of "Osmand and Co." Mike, with his accustomed good nature, had constituted himself general factotum. Six o'clock found him astir, setting the billy to boil, and making other preparations for breakfast. This routine usually went tc the swing of a blithe whistling or snatches of song, but on the present occasion Osmand noticed that Mike was pensively silent.

" What was the trouble last night, Mike?" he asked casually; "it seemed to me you were dreaming a lot."

Mike looked up steadily, but there was a measureless sadness in his eyes. "It was no dream," he said — "no dream. It was I%annot talk about it, Ned," he broke off abruptly. " Come to breakfast."

"Ned noted quietly how little of Mike's own breakfast had been partaken of; it was evident the incident of the night still depressed him. Finding that the mention of it only saddened Mike, Ned did not then, or at any subsequent time-, make any further reference to it. Work at the " Old Fivers " claim had been suspended for a short period when Osmand and his mate took up part of the ground on tribute. Foi some time they had an uphill take. It was only after many weeks of persevering labour that success was fairly assured ; and the " Old Fivers " was once again spoken of as a profitable claim. Mike told Ned that if this good luck continued he would be soon taking a trip to the Old Country. Ned had no need to ask why. He knew of Colleen Boyle, one of Erin's sweet daughters, living near Killarney, who was waiting with loving welcome for Mike's return. Mike's stay in his native land would, however, be a short one. He intended speedily coining back to New Zealand, but he would not come alone.

The weeks passed on, and prospects at the " Old Fivers " grew still brighter, yet all Mike's buoyancy of spirits seemed to have deserted him. For nearly a month — not, indeed, since the night of the incident related, had he referred to his projected trip. "I am going for a shot or tw- after tea," said Ned one evening as they knocked off work; '"better come, Mike."

" Right," assented Mike promptly, with something of his old cheerfulness. "We could go over Peak Hill, and most likely meet some hares there."

In the long autumn twilight they had walked a considerable distance, and bagged several brace of game before they thought of returning. When nearly home Mike paused, and glanced round. " Look, Ned !" he exclaimed, hurriedly, pointing to a glare that suddenly shot up in the distance, " that must be M'Keller's house burning."

" Yes, it is," said Ned, after a moment's survey ; " and M'Keller himself is away mill-driving, but the family were there this morning, I know." " They may be thers now, and want help," replied Mike. '• Let us hurry over."

Mike's action was as prompt as his thought. He was fleet of foot, and knew the ground well. Ned followed with the best speed he could, but, unable to keep pace with Mike, he was soon considerably in the rear.

M'Keller's house stood by itself, nearly half a mile from any neighbour's residence. As Mike neared the building he heard a woman's frenzied screams for " Help ! Help! Oh, help!"'

Mrs M'Keller and her four children (the only inmates of the cottage) had retired early, and were asleep when the fire broke out. Half -suffocated when awakened by the thick smoke, the mother sprang from her bed, and seizing a rug carried out the two younger children. The other children, aged four and six respectively, were in the one upstairs room, where the door had swung" to, and the fastening caught by some means inside. Mrs M'Keller had rushed up to rescue the children, yet could not, in spite of her frantic efforts, burst open the door. A moment before both little ones had been screaming with terror ; now they were quiet, perhaps already suffocated by the smoke, which was thickly penetrating every crevice. Not a second was to be lost. Mike sprang up the narrow steps with the lightness of an athlete. The staircase was burning like matchwood, in places crackling and falling to fragments. Reaching the landing breathless, half-blinded with smoke, Mike threw his whole weight with desperate force against the door. The fastening burst, and Mike found himself almost precipitated over the children.

" Cissie fell down ; she can't speak now. and she can't get up," cried the terrified little boy, sobbing deeply. Mike instantly caught up the tinconscious child. He knew the one chance of escape was through the dormer window. It was only the work of a minute to improvise a rope from the bed covering, and lower the child to Ned, who, fortunately, was up in time to render assistance.

The flames were rapidly growing. The furnace-like heat was almost overpowering. Mike had just lowered) the other child, and was preparing himself to descend, when part of the burning side fell in. For an instant it seemed as if he would be buried beneath a mass of falling cinders and debris. Ned shuddered at the contemplation, but, providentially, Mike escaped the full consequences of the threatened danger ; yet he escaped it so narrowly that, as his feet touched the ground, part of the falling rafter caught him across the foreliead with such force that when Ned hastened to his assistance Mike was, for the moment.,

dazed and bleeding, with a sharp, stinging ' pain extending across his almost blinded eyes. By this time other helpers had reached the sc«ne. Owing to the progress of the fire, it was impossible to save any of the household chattels. The only thing, therefore, to be done was to assist Mrs M'Keller and her children to the shelter of the nearest neighbour's house. Before leaving the smoking ruins of what a short hour before had been her j happy, though humble, home Mrs M'KeLler came to Mike. Ned had led him to a safe spot, away from the smoke and glare of the fire, and was bandaging his forehead with a handkerchief. The mother's feeling of thankfulness for the escape of her little ones could only find vent in emotional sobs and broken wox-ds of gratitude to their preserver. "Never on earth could she repay him," she exclaimed, "but a mother's prayers would go far ; Heaven would hear, and bless him." "Don't, Airs M'Keller," entreated Mike — "don't overrate a simple act like that. Why, any man at all would have done the same." "No," she protested, firmly, "no weakhearted, self-lcving man would have endangered his life as you did. Only one brave and fearless like yourself — one of God's own nobles," she added, giving, in her emotion, a deeply emphatic earnestness to her words. Mike bore his pain and temporary blindness with the utmost fortitude. "I am so glad to think those youngsters were saved," he said to Ned ; "the suffering now doesn't seem much to trouble me." "Yes, indeed, it was a blessing you rescued them from that death trap. If I hadn't stumbled into a blooming ditch," continued Ned, "I might have been there seme minutes sooner. Now, lam afraid, Mike, old man, this is a hospital case." "I think so too," rejoined Mike, cheerfully. "With a grip of your arm, Ned, I can walk along to Morley's. We'll get their light cart for going in." "Morley will send it up," said Ned. "No, I'd rather walk along ; it will save time." To this proposal, after a little consideration, Ned assented. The drive to the hospital did not occupy more than two hours, and for the greater part of the way Mike, despite his pressing pain, kept up a cheery conversation. Then came an interval of "silence, broken at last by Ned's sympathetic remark : "I suppose the pain is increasing. Mike?" "JNfo, it's not . that ; but I was thinking, Ned. Do you know, for nearly four weeks past I have had a firm feeling that some accident would befall me — it has been a presentiment." "It's strange, certainly," said Ned. "I have heard of presentiments before, but, to tell the truth, never believed in them." "Well, listen, Ned," continued Mike, with impressive earnestness. "If I don't get back to the 'Old Fivers' again " "Oh, you'll get back all right," interposed Ned, cheerfully. "This is only a passing knock, and — here we are at the hospital gates." "But, listen, Ned." Mike repeated. "I'm not feeling dispirited about it, mind; yet, if the worst happens to me " "The worst !" exclaimed Ned ; "you don't mean. Mike, old chum, that " j "Well, no," interrupted Mike, slowly, "it would not be the worst ; but, after all, the best. So. if the best happens, Ned, there's a few things scrolled in my pocketbook, I know you'll see to — and " "No, you are to be my executor, Mike." replied Ned, with an attempt at cheerfulness, though his voice just then was a bit husky. "There is one thing more. Ned," persisted Mike. "When the English mail comes on Friday, there'll be a letter. I want you to bring it in, straightaway." "I'll be there, Friday, letter or no letter,' said Ned. Ned waited till he could hear from the house surgeon his opinion respecting Mike's injuries. "Though very painful," said the doctor, "the injury is not dangerous ; but it will take time and care to preserve the sight from becoming impaired." On Friday, as expected, the English mail arrived, bringing for Mike the Ht ter he anticipated. "Black-edged," sighed Ned, as he received it. "I am afraid that means sadness ; yet he was so anxious that I nn&t tak- it in at once." In answer to Ned's inquiry as to Mike's progress, the doctor gravely replied : "No, I cannot say he is doing weA: It is not, however, the external injuries that form the unfavourable feature. His spirits are most cheerful — he never complains ; yet there is an increasing weakness, which is singular," continued tho doctor, "and I can assign no cause fox: it. I din glad you dropped in." Ned entered the ward quietly. Alike lay white-looking, and apparently lisMe»s. His eyes were still bandaged, but his hearing was alert. Before Ned had time to speak, Mike had heard and recognised his footstep. "Well done. Ned, old mate," he exclaimed, eagerly extending his hand, and greeting him with a cheery smile. "I knew you'd come. The smile gave place to a look of anxiety as. he added : "Ned, have you brought the letter?" "Oh, yes ; it's here all right," replied) Ned, remembering with regret its ominous black edge, but placing it in Mike's hand, so that he could feel its seal unbroken. "Thanks, Ned. I must borrow your eyes and voice, though, befoi'e I can know all the contents. Read it," he said eagerly. Ned opened and glanced over the letter. It was some seconds, that to Mike seemed lengthened minutes, befoi'e he spoke. "I am very sorry, Mike — there is bad news." "I know," said Mike, in a low voice — "I know. It was on the 3rd of April, wasn't it 4 Ned?"

' "Oh, no," returned Ned, thinking Mike alluded to M'Keller's lire ; "it was not many diys ago." "1 don't mean the accident, I mean Colleen's death." "Hofl could you know, Mike?" asked Ned in amazement. '"But it is the truth," be added gently. "Colleen Boyle died on the date you name, the 3rd of April. I am grieved, Mike, to know your letter brings such sad intelligence.'' i ! "It would have grieved me very much a I few weeks ago," said Mike, quietly. "It is not any sadness now.'' "But how did you know?" asked Ned, still mj stifled. "Don't you remember, Ned), that night when Smoko's barking roused you, and I nev.°r heard him?" J "Yes, I remember." "Well, >Ted, that night I saw and heard Colleen. Oh, yes, I did,'' repeated Mike fiimly, in a tone that challenged any possible doubt Xed might have on the subject. "I heardi Colleen calling,'' he continued), ''and her voice was as sweet and cear as ever. 'Mike !' 'Mike !' Mike !' three times I heard the call, and when I looked up Colleen was there. I asked you afterwards if sou had heard anything, but you had not." "No, I heard nothing but Smoko,'' saidi Ned, thinking, with regret, of the gruffness he had been guilty of on the night referred to. "I could hear Colleen." said Mike, "as plainly as I hear you. She was standing beside me, looking down with her own bright eyes — clear as the stars, and blue, blue like the summer sky. Yes, it was Colleen," he repeated firmly. "I could even feel her breath ; her eyes had! a strange and beautiful light that seemed to thrill my soul." "Why didn't you tell me before, Mike?" asked Ned gently. "I felt it so much that I couldn't somehow talk of it. I don't know how long Colleen stayed," continued Mike, "but when I started up I felt her hand on my forheadi, and," he added slowly, as if speaking of something held most sacred, "her lips touched mme — just one lingering kiss — and she was gone." Ned was silent ; with the incidents of that night still fresh in his memory, the story now heard seemed weirdly affecting. Mike's voice grew husky as he concluded : "But, Ned, her hand and her lips were cold ; they had ths icy chill of death. I felt and knew then that Colleen had died, and in her last moments — even over the wide ocean — she had com.? and called to me. You — you believe me, Ned?" he asked anxiously. "Every word of it, Mike." "Ned, Ned !" he exclaimed suddenly. "Can't you take this affair off my eyes? I don't seam to need it now." "The doctor must be consulted first, Mike — you know." "Well, I don't want it any longer ; I can see quite clearly, and everything is so bright — and, listen, listen, Ned," continued Mike softly, as he caught Nedi's .hand in a convulsive, tightening grasp. "Listen ! I can hear her now — Colleen is calling — yes, calling "' A smile, the brightness of which still lingers in Ned's memory, flashed over Mike's face ; his lips quivered, and his hand relaxed its grasp, as the nurse, passing through, first glanced casually over, and then hurriedly came to the bedside. She looked at Ned for an instant in questioning, awed surprise, and then whispered, "You had better leave him — there is a great change." It had occurred with such suddenness that Ned, who still held Mike's hand, was too bewildered to understand. "Surely," he gasped, '"it is not — not " "Yes, it is the end." she said sadly. Tears unrestrained were in her eyes as, gazing for a moment, she added! softly. "He was such a dear brave, patient fellow.'' i The doctor was hastily summoned, only j to pronounce, after a careful examination, . tile inevitable verdict — "life was extinct." ! "It is a very singular case, certainly," he said, when Ned told him the facts so recently heard from Mike. ''Speaking from I a medical point of view, this sudden collapse is quite unaccountable. There was no previous indication of any heart weak- j ness — none whatever.*' j "It is a sadly painful shock- to me." re- '' plied Ned. "Mike was always so well and strong — he appeared to have a splendid , constitution/ i "Most extraordinary altogether," said the doctor. "Despite the progress of medical science," he continued thoughtfully, "it seems as if the spiritual — the mysterious and unseen — has in some cases a strange, fateful power, which w.e can neither fathom noi- defeat." Ned had always felt for Mike a regard far deeper than the ordinary feelings of chumship. At his death he grieved keenly, but soon, as if to alleviate his sorrow, came th 9 memory of that night journey to the hospital, and what Mike had said) of the " best." Yes. after all. reflected Ned, it ■w as truly the best that had happened to his mate, Mike O'Mahoney.