THE BUSH: A STUDY IN FEAR.

Otago Witness, Issue 3757, 16 March 1926, Page 85

THE BUSH: A STUDY IN FEAR.

By Irene Robertson. (CorYmGiiT.— For the Witness.) Winchester Browne’s pale cheeks grew a trilie pink. His nervous hands clutched a shade tighter at the side of the senico car which was just jolting and trembling on the very brink of the precipice of the great gorge, yet dashing onwards safely. He did not move otherwise, but continued to chat unconcernedly to his next-door neighbour. That one, pointing out the wonders of the gorge, the starlike mountain daisy, the rosy-tinged fern, the yellow tawas, the purple heights beyond the winding road, was impervious to the slight signs of unaccustomedness which, indeed, only a keen observer would have noticed. “Are you a stranger to this part of the country?” asked Ken Burns, neighbour. “Oh, yes, I’m just out from London, only been in the country a few weeks. Old Country’s no place for us young fellows now, so I’m for the bush and axe. What’s it like up the back country here?” The older man looked sideways at his companion ere he replied. “I like,” he thought, “this brown-eyed, slight-featured, pleasant-voiced Londoner. I like the upward r-ilt at the corners of his mouth, and the kind of laugh in his voice.” Yes he continued to look sideways before he slowly spoke. “The back country? Well, it’s hard and it’s lonely, far too lonely. Don’t go up there alone. We always work with a mate or several fellows together. Aien’t you a returned soldier? Yes, I thought so. Why not get some occupation in or near a township that would suit you? There’s plenty to be done by a willing man.”

“Oh, well, I suppose I could, hut I want to get right away from the crowd for a bit. They got on my nerves in London after the war, and I thought the outdoor life and freedom of the hush might buck one up a bit, and I’d have the chance of pushing ahead in this new country. Anyhow, 1 thought I’d give it a go, and I want to get away by myself for a bit—a wav from crowds.” As he spoke his face darkened and Ken, now observing closely saw another faint flush and a twitch of the mobile lips. Still the car bumped and tossed it? wav up the fern-clad hills—higher, higher, yet no sound of life around save the tinkling fall of the tiny waterfalls and the ringing bells of the tui in the distance above the tall trees.

Winchester Browne reached his destination that afternoon as the sun was sinking. Having left the service car to plough its way onward, he and Ken Burns trudged onwards side bv side to the little backblocks settlement where they planned to spend the night. Side by side thev trudged along the track, now cold with the clear of ice, damp with the delicious dampness of a million tree ferns. Behind was the minute saw-milling village with its shacks of rough wood and wooden or 'in chimneys. Up the track of the bush railwav with its wooden lines they passed till they pulled up for the night at Burns s shack, leaving until daylight Winchester Brown’s further trek into the hidden heart of the bush. “So you’ll be my next neighbour. Glad I met you, Burns. Expect I shall lie looking in to see you pretty often, don’t you know?” said he as they parted. “Any time at all if I can bf of any use I shall be only too glad And any time you want to smoke a pine me or my mate Barney will be glad to see you. It’s hellish lonely by yourself way back, and I tell you a man wants a mate. I’ve mv mate Barney, and the chaps down the village are nearer me, but you’re further back yet, and you’ll want someone. Ycu take my tip and get someone to join you. The life gets on a man’s nerves.” Browne laughed lightly; the little crinkles at the corners of his mouth wont upwards and the brown eyes smiled too. “Don’t you worry about me, Burns, tiianks all the same. I’ll be jake, don't you know?” Davß passed. Weeks passed. Months passed. Winchester Browne stuck to his post with the grim, somewhat stolid pluck of the Britisher. His little clearing had been made, his shack erected. But no longer was Winchester Browne to he seen at nights smoking his Three Castles at Ken Burns’s, nor riding.down with him to the village store for the week’s gossip, the week’s mail. As good, rough Ken confided to his cronies: "He’s altering. Something’s come over Browne. Blessed if I can tell what’s the matter ' with the fellow. If Igo up to sec him of an evening lie’s sitting there with liis head in his hands as white as a ghost, staring through the window as if a second ghost was looking in at him. I . said: ‘ Browne,’ I said, ‘ why don’t you come on down to the boys, and have a smoke and a drink! There’s your mother there and your girl looking at you and saying, “Go on with him—go on with him.”’ But he just looked sideways at those two photos standing one each side of his table and shook his head. * They’ve asked me to go, Ken, many times,’ he said. ‘ But,’ he said, ‘ I went at first, and now I can’t go any more.’

“ * Why not? * says I. “ * The trees won’t let me,’ he says, and not another word could I get out of him, so I just sat there and sat there and him every now and then starting up and gazing out of the window and saying not a word, till I got up and went home, having stayed as long as I could.”

And indeed night by night Browne sat in his little shack with no sound save the wind sweeping round him and the incessant sound of it in the trees. His clearing was in front, but at the back trees grew up to the roof; trees tapped on the chimney a 3 though asking to come in; trees and climbing tendrils of vine even on to the roof oi the little house — punga, with widespread, open fingers; rimu, dainty, alluring, snaring; cabbagetree, like the mace of a giant; kahikat'high and ponderous —all huge, overshadowing, menacing.

“You grow every day,” he muttered. “You come nearer and nearer; you are over rnv roof. Mother and Xita, can you not drive tlffem away? They will get me soon.” He turned, and kneeled imploringly at the feet of the two photos on his table. “You can save me, save me, mother and Xita, or they will no 1 let me go. I cannot leave them; they are too strong for me. See, there they arc now, trying to gaze in at the windows, round the corner. Mother, have mercy.”

As lie gazed, the dim film of dread and horror left the brown glazed eyes of Winchester Browne as though the faraway spirit of liis mother liau passed through the distance and surrounded her son with a protecting armour woven of love. He cast himself on the bed, and fell into a long sleep. Early next morning he rose, and, seizing an axe, commenced chopping at the encroaching forest. But no! There was the bell-bird singing sweetly in the branches, and the spirit of the tree seemed to hover before him like some gigantic spirit of the soil, forbidding, menacing. The axe fell from his hand. Night came, and with night came the forest. “They wake at night,” he thought; “they are only aware at night.” Surely he had found fresh growths closing round the house at the back; surely tendrils of that creeping vine were nearing the one and only window of the shack, like tentacles reaching towards him always. He sat shivering and haggard, hour after hour. A knock seemed to resound through the cottage, lie jumped to the door to hold it fast. “It is they; tliev are coming!” ht screamed. One crush and the door was flung open. Ken Burns stood on the threshold.

“Here, you, let me in, man; you’ve been up here long enough,” he said almost roughly. “You just sit down like a good chap and tell me the trouble.” Putting an arm on his shoulder he led \\ inchester Browne to the bed and sat down by liis side. “Who is it you think is coming ? There is nobodv to come here tut old Ken Burns, and surely you wouldn’t lock him out.”

At last Browne’s pride v'as broken, lie told this solid man of the backblocks of the neurasthenic trouble left after the war, of the obsessing fear of crowds which had led him to leav, London, the haunting, pursuing fear of crowds that he might never tell. How this had driven him to the solitude of the bush, even away from his mother and sweetheart, only to be re-caught by the terror of trees, the loneliness of the bush. Night by night the saving influence of these two were diminishing; the trees were creeping nearer, and the tendrils of the supplejack m the growing moonlight were approaching his window to drag him out. Yet he could not resist or destroy them. The forest was getting him body and soul. Each night they came nearer; each night might be the end. As the tendrils of that hateful vine crept nearer it approached. Useless to take an axe to rush, to smite, hack, destroy. Unseen forces in the bush paralysed him, rendered him liowerless. Useless ! useless ! useless ! And iis head dropped between his hands.Ken Burns was silent for a moment. As he paused, Winchester Browne leapt to the window, tore it up, and there sure enough were trails of supplejack creeping towards the window opening. Burns pulled him in, and pushed him into a chair, where he sat for gome time, white and spellbound.

“It’ll be all right, old chap. You’ll he all right. They won’t get veu. We’ll see to that. Don’t you fret. Ken Burns will stay by you and drive the darned trees away. Now, steady, old man. I’ll stay the night with you anyway. Come on, take a glass of whisky and pull yourself together.” True to his word, Ken stayed with the tortured man till he quieted, and by degrees fell into a gentle sleep. Till midnight Ken watched, and as the sleeper showed no sign of wakening dropped asleep also. “By jove, old man, it’s jolly good of ycu, don’t you know,” said ’a hollowcheeked Winchester Browne whose brown eyes looked out sombre and clouded. I had better rest last night than I’ve had for weeks.”

“Don’t you worry, that’s quite all right. I’ll be back again to-night, and then you

must get right out of this and go home to your girl. I’ll book you a place on tho service car to-day, and you go through to Auckland to-morrow.”

“Can’t, Burns, good of you, but I’ll never break away. Lost my kick, I’m afraid. That’s how it gets a man.” “Oh yes! I'll see you part of the way, and you get straight back to your pretty girl who’s waiting for you at home. She'll pull you through all right if I can judge by that face—should never have left her in the first place.” “No, you’re right there. See ycu tonight.” “Right! So long. I’ll be down tonight.” But when night came Browne waited in vain. The sun was setting, and no welcome footsteps sounded up the track. He did not know that Burns was lying half way between their two shacks with a fractured knee, tripped by a tangle of the supplejack vine, endeavouring vainly to drag himself the remaining miles towards Browne’s hut.

But the night grew on apace. Purple shadows deepened into blackness till presently the moon rose high and full, chasing the darkness. Then sprang into relief giant trees, cabbage, pungas with' clutching fingers, rimus, subtle, stealthy eyes of white mountain daisy seemed to open, and above all the climbing vine, spreading, spreading onwards. The wind rose, and gentle tapping sounds became audible upon the roof. The moon glared in. To Winchester Browne’s enlarged wistful brown eyes the vine wa; :rely coming nearer. The long nervous hands closed and unclosed. Would Burns neve; come? The tapping wag leuder—no, it was not tapping at all. No, that was not tapping! They were iron hammers wielding their way through the roof—coming, coming, coming. The fingers of the black punga. the giant kahikatea, they were nearly all through the tin. See tne windows ! The vine was right in, stretching a million tiny fingers. To-night! The bush had got him surely. He must get away. He backed to the far wall, but surely the vine stretched across the room,, the giant hammers were through the roof, or were they through his brain. The door ! It seemed t-o him to offer an avenue of escape, or was it he who had madly pushed it open. He ran, raced, crazily, furiously on, on, on. Anywhere to escape from those pursuing monsters. He did not know that he was but fleeing farther into the bush, farther from the track. Creepers tripped him, thorns tore him, but still he ran. . .

Next day they found -Burns within a mile of the* shack. “Never mind me, look for Browne. Find Browne, don’t waste anv time.”

They took him away to be cared for, arid then went oil to look for Winchester Browne. But he was not there.. Everything was as usual, save the wide open door, the unslept-in bed. They searched, they found him. “God!” said one. “Look!”

Lying on his back with wide brown eves staring at the faint vanishing moon, yet hi* body was entangled with growths of suppleinck vine, arms held down, and he Jav tvedged between two enormous trees. * The bush had taken Winchester Browne!