THE RESCUE OF DUNKELLY.

Otago Witness, Issue 3823, 21 June 1927, Page 80

THE RESCUE OF DUNKELLY.

By

Jane Gerrie.

(Copyright.—For the Witness.) Gladdy Brockenhurst turned over in bed and stretched and yawned. The sun was streaming in at the window, while beyond she saw green, wet fields, with a few solitary birches towards the riverside, and behind these a wall of willows, through which came tiny gleams of silver river. Blue sky, white clouds, a gentle breeze, and bird songs made the morning one on which it seemed good to be alive. Gladdy felt she must do something fitting so perfect a day. Sitting up in bed, she ran her fingers through her touzled hair, then, hugging her knees, bent her mind to the matter in hand. What would she do this glorious morning.

It was Saturday. Her little cottage badly needed cleaning; there were, she knew—without dwelling on the thought sadly—piles of dishes on the kitchen table. She saw, but not with any depth of emotion, certain marks which are not usually seen on the windows of the best of housekeepers. Sue saw, too, in her mind’s eye, a large cosy fireplace which would be none the worse for a fresh coat of clay. Whatever devils possessed Gladdy’s young soul, there were none of the clean devils there.

“ My job is to teach kids, so why wear one’s temper to shreds and one’s soul to death with unnecessary labour?” she used to argue with herself. But do something she must or die, this glorious day. Dishes and fireplaces could wait their proper time. Ah! she had it! A ride up the valley! A brisk canter in the fresh keen air was just what she pined for, so, without waste of time, she was out, dressed, had shut the door on what might easily have been her troubles (but which were not), and was on her way, cantering up the valley towards purple mountains, snow-topped and glistening in the sun.

What a day it was! The cool air made her cheeks tingle and blew her hair every way.

“Crummy!” she thought, “I know what must have macle the cow jump over the moon. It must have been a spring morning.” Down where Dipping Creek crossed the road, Vick Jack was repairing some fencing. What a stunning day to meet him on, she thought with a little warm feeling of gladness in her heart. What a nice kid he was; so clean, so straight! how witty and how kindly in his judgment of others! And what good cobbers they were, too! Somehow it was easy to talk over little difficulties with each other.

Oh, yes, and he liad just bought a stylish beast; most valuable, too, and a rather risky investment in the as-yet uncertain state of his fortune.

“ Hello, John-James,” she called, as he laid his strainers on a post and perched on a convenient log. “ How is the latest addition to Tinpot Farm?” “ Say it again!” he uared, grinning. “ Was it Tinpot or Cheap jack I decided to offer as a suitable name?” she queried. A lump of earth whizzed by her ear, missing her by inches. John-James was proud of a straight eye. It was handy when he brought the cows in at milking time.

“ Well,” he confided, “ it’s certainly the dearest bit of stock I’ve handled yet. Lord, if that beast goes crook on me I’ll be bust. I’m going to town on Monday, and the first thing I do is. to get the insurance fixed up!” “Not got it fixed up I” she exclaimed. “You silly ass!”

“ Oh well, Blunt had the responsibility till I paid him yesterday, and it’s lived a year or two so far. If it goes crook between now and Monday it’ll be a bigger rotter than I take it for.”

“ And you’ll be a sillier chump than I took you for,” she tleclared candidly. “ And a poorer man than I took myself for,” and he sighed deeply, and then grinned at her cheerfully. “ Where is vour Wonder of Wonders now?”.she asked. “Will I see him this morning?” Vick waxed enthusiastic. “If you’ve any luck and you keep your eyes skinned, vou will see him in the Two-mile paddock. My, he is a beauty, though! I feel pleased all over when I think of him.”

“ Goodness,” she exclaimed, with mocking interest. “ Ever seen a kid with a new toy? Well, I must be going. .Anything else on earth worthy of notice?” “ Only Grandfather Grundy,” he said, as he pi ked up his strainer, “dead on Saturday, dog-tucker on Sunday. You see,” he explained. “ we’re killing the dear old chap to-day, if there’s time. And so she went on riding and he working.

“ Silly kid not. to get that insurance fixed up,” she thought. “ What if the beast died on his hands? They always do

mad things if they are not insured. What a mess he’d be in. It’s too awful to think of. He’s such an easy-going, happy-go-lucky beggar. He’ll come a cropper one of these days.” But she soon forgot her worries, and thoughts of flash stock vanished from her mind. She cantered serenely on nearly to the end of Two-mile paddock, when suddenly her heart leapt into her mouth. For a moment she was petrified, then, slashing her horse, she dashed forward. “ Dun kelly,” she gasped. There was the animal lying motionless On his side on the wrong side of the fence, one hind foot caught firmly in the wires. “Oh, God, don’t let him be dead'” she cried. “What must be done?” It wasn’t dead quite ; but it had been there a long time and was past kicking. One horn was embedded in the ground and the eyes, rolled upwards, showed only bloodshot whites.

What could she do? Vick was a good three miles off. and even if she tore back to him, the animal would probably be dead by the time he got back. Could she let it go herself? Jumping off her horse, she worked with the wires, pressing down with her foot and easing up with her hands. Would the thing never come free? She struggled and strained. “ Oh, God. don’t let him die!” she panted. It was the only thing she could think.

At last the leg dropped limply, but the animal made no attempt to rise. ’ Coming up to its head, she' tugged at the free horn to lift the animal’s head.

Poo late! Too late!” she groaned. Oh, Vick, Vick, you are a gone coon tow ! You poor old kid !”

But was it too late ? The beast began to struggle; pretty feebly, ’twas true. For a while it kicked and rolled and snorted, then staggered to its knees, facing her. Puffing and snorting, its nostrils dilating with every panting breath, its eyes bloodshot and starting, it seemed to Gladdy furiously mad. She realised what she had done in setting a mad beast free. It was going to rush her. For a few moments—to Gladdy it seemed days at least—it rocked feebly on its knees. It was lurching, ready to lunge forward and gore her. She stood rooted to the spot, terrified.

Just as the brute staggered to its feet, she turned to the fence behind her. There was a ledge of ground about two feet wide, then a drop of 10 feet or more sheer into the river. One day the river would encroach even further, and then there would be neither fence nor road nor Two mile paddock. Hurling herself over the fence, jagging her hands, and leaving tatters of her clothes on the barbed wire, she plunged over the bank and into the river below.

A few minutes later she was sitting on a log on the river bed, gasping and bitterly cold, assessing damages. But she didn t care a twopenny dump for rips or bruises or scratches.

“It’s safe! It’s safe! It’s safe!” she kept gloating to herself. And then she began to laugh. It’s easy enough to laugh when danger is past, and in her mind’s eye she saw a comical picture of herself scaling a barbed-wire fencA and leaping into a water hole, chased by a bulk Wouldn’t the kids have laughed to see her. Wouldn’t Vick enjoy it? When, about half an hour later, she scrambled up on to the road again, neither the horse nor the beast was in sight. Well, no matter. The beast was alive, and she certainly was not seeking another interview. If the horse had gone home, good and well; if it had gone the other way, Vick would have to fetch it later in the day, so she set off home. Now, when Gladdy plunged Into her chilly bath, the beast was staggering to its feet. Tt lurched drunkenly across the road towards where Spuck, Gladdy’s nag, was standing. Taking fright Spuck wheeled, and leaving a stirrup iron to adorn the manuka bush beside him tore off in the direction of home. And the poor beast, crashing into the bush, flopped down its weary frame and died. That is how Gladdy saw a clear road before her. ■After about a mile Spuck’s gallop subsided into a steady trot, so that about the time Gladdy crawled to the road again Vick, hearing the sound of trotting hoofs, looked up from his work. “ My land I” he yelled, “ she’s come a spiller!”

Quick as a flash he took it all in—one stirrup gone,- and Gladdy—heavens, where was she? Leaping on the horse he made him go like the wind, and Spuck laid back his ears and went. Anxiously, Vick scanned the road and the roadside before him, till along the straight stretch of Two Mile paddock he saw a small speck before him. He gave a gasp of relief, when, on getting near enough, he saw she was walking and waving cheerily. “ Hurt?” he asked as he looked her up and down. And then she told him how Dunkelly was saved. At first Vick looked with starting eyes, then a look of admiration crept into his face, and he put back his head and roared: “You plucky little beggar,” he said gently, and with shining eyes. “ Yon plucky kid! I don’t know how it was you weren’t gored by the mad brute,” he added with relief. “ Only a natural aptitude for sealing fences saved me,” she answered with a twinkle. “ You should have seen me.”

“Well, now we’re here, let’s just bob along and see he’s all right. If you like,

you can wait for me here. I’ll not be many minutes,” he promised. “Good life, no, I’ll come,” Gladdy protested. “ I don’t mind seeing him again iit a safe distance. Do we meet as old acquaintances?” Just then they came up with the carcase by the tree, already stiffening. “Oh, Vick!” she cried despairingly. *lt has died after all. Oh, Vick!” and the overwrought girl subsided on a stump gnd burst into tears. Vick gave a short, unearthly laugh—the laugh of a man who has been “ had e—badly, it seemed to Gladdy. He turned Jiis back on his loss as though to shut out the sight, and kneeling gathered the Weeping girl tenderly into his arms. “ Don’t grieve so, dear,” he whispered, pnd then chuckled. “That’s only old Grandfather Grundy ®—killed on Saturday, dog-tucker Sunday !”