THE WILD HORSE OF WINDY RIDGE

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVII, Issue 19374, 24 December 1932, Page 12

THE WILD HORSE OF WINDY RIDGE

by EMARY GURNEY

Par away down the valley, where it bent towards the north, horsemen came over the hill.

I could see them quite clearly against the sky, and I knew then, that I must fight the rope.

I was afraid of it, but not as I was afraid of the men who were coming. All night the rope had lain moveless and inert, and some of my fear of it had died.

Very cautiously I moved. The rope moved too, startling me dreadfully, so that I stood for a long time trembling. After a while it occurred to me that the rope only moved when I moved, so I tried again, very cautiously, backing away a step at a time. When I moved, it moved. When I stopped, it stopped. Twice I struck at it, snorting, but it did not take any notice, so in the end I whirled away from it, and it leaped and struck me on the flank. Almost I panicked, because my mother and sister—what had they done to her?— had died by the rope; yet I was sure now that it was a dead thing, without wit or volition of its own. Besides, had I not struck it—and was there a thing could live beneath my hoofs? Had not the dog died?

So I drove hard at it with both heels, and ran back to where Kaihi lay; and it trailed beside me. like a snake in the grass, but now I was not afraid. The noose lay flat on my shoulders, and I hardly felt it there. Trembling, I went up to my mother, and reached out to touch her muzzle with mine; and hers was hard and cold . . .

I drew back, snorting and stamping —ran round her, calling—and then I went . . .

I went out across the valley, and up into the hills, travelling fast, with the rope trailing beside. The riders were still a mile away, but it was not of them, now, that I was afraid, but of the thing that had taken my mother. All day long I travelled back towards the south—towards the place where I had been born, on the sunny slope of the hill, with the herd all about me, and my father watching from the granite grey pinnacle above us. Mostly I hardly noticed the rope, but every now and then it seemed to spring to life, and tug suddenly at my neck. At those times I was angry and fearful, and struck and kicked at it, until it obeyed my will, but it persisted until my shoulders grew sore and tender, and I began to be half afraid of it again.

When night came, I dared not rest, but wandered on, calling and calling, though I knew that there would be no answer, except the echo that rang foolishly from peak to peak of the hills.

Morning found me near the head of the fence down which, many miles away, men. had dug my father’s grave. I had not travelled very fast after night-fall, but now with the dawning I quickened my gait again, longing, I know not why, to reach the spring where we had rested—from which we had set out so hopefully so short a time before.

I think that, in a hazy way, I dreamed that I should find them there —the herd and my mother and Shade, and the red-gold of my father poised on the hills above them. That vision or dream, or whatever you like to call it, made me hasten recklessly, galloping up hill and down, and through little twisting valleys where the stunted manuka grew, with its feet in the oozy bottoms, among the tussock and fern. I went so, for about six miles, with the rope jerking and writhing beside me, but in my eagerness I had quite forgotten it, although every now and then it tugged at my neck with a savagery that almost broke the skin.

The spring Itself was in a little sloping valley, half way up the hillside, and was surrounded, almost up to it, by scrub, between whose ragged feet the grass grew curiously sweet. By the time X had climbed from the last ravine to the valley, X was in a torment of thirst, for though I had passed water on the way, it had never occured to me to drink, so great was my fever to be back at this spring; nor had I snatched so much as a mouthful of grass for nearly forty-eight hours.

With the memory of that which lay behind me to drive me on, no thought of food had entered my head. For some obscure reason, the spring was to me in the nature of a sanctuary, and only there dare I pause to eat and drink, for only there could I feel secure. I went up the last steep bit in great bounds, half-expecting to see the herd grazing there, but when at last the spring came into view, it was quite deserted. I called, but there was no answer, so with a little whinny of desolation, I trotted towards the spring, and was

jerked to a dead stop with my muzzle not two feet from the water. That rope again!

Savagely I whirled and struck —once and again—turned back to the water, and was jerked to a stop again. I whirled and struck and kicked—even bit at it, but to no purpose. Every time I turned back to the water it stopped me; and the third time it had slipped away from my shoulders to my neck, and was uncomfortably tight about my wind-pipe.

I was afraid then, and stood for hours, until the sun went quite low to the mountains, throwing the long shadows of the hills into the valleys.

Quite still I stood, with the scent of the water in my nostrils, and the sound of It gurgling on the opposite side, where it fell away between two rocks in a sparkling cascade to the ravine a thousand feet below. And the rope was still, too, so that when night came I tried again, but then the noose tightened so that I found it diflicult to breath, so I stood again with my head hanging low and ever lower, until my muzzle rested in a tuft of sweet grass that I was too thirsty to eat.

Once in the night—a night of brilliant stars—far, far away I heard a horse calling, and strove to answer, but no sound came.

Morning came, and the first hot day in spring, so that by night-faJl my thirst was a torment unspeakable. The rigors of the winter had left me very thin, and the events of the last few days had not tended to put any flesh on my bones, so that I was in no case to withstand my present anguish and fear.

Perhaps, but for the merry gurgling of the water that lay so close, I should have stood there until I was too weak to struggle and so died; but as It was. by noon next day I was frantic, and began to struggle desperately, though reason as well as instinct warned me that the struggle could have but one end.

First of all I struck at the rope—kicked it—took it in my teeth and ground it savagely; and then I turned towards the spring, and pulled with every ounce of strength that was left in me.

But, though I strained until I went to my knees, I could not so much as wet my lips; and the noose tightened until I was choking. At last in despair I reared to my feet, and flung myself forward with all my weight—and the rope jerked my head down—jerked me heels over head, so that I lay on my side in the pool, with only my head out; and I knew that the rope was broken—knew too, that the noose was still in a strangle hold about my neck, and that though now I could get my head to the water, I could not drink, but only lie and choke and choke—and die . . . (To be Continued.)

A CHINESE LEGEND

The sun (so the story runs) is always being chased by a huge and terrible dragon, who snaps at it as it passes shining .through the sky, but cannot quite succeed in devouring it. Once, however, by a tremendous effort, the dragon managed to seize the sun between its teeth.

Then the sun was in danger indeed. But the people of China came to the rescue. They rushed out of their houses, beating gongs and trays and pots and pans and letting off crackers: all of which made such a noise that the dragon was frightened away and the sun shone out again as brightly as ever.

That was the first eclipse of the sun, and since then, whenever there is an eclipse of the sun, many Chinese beat their gongs and let off their crackers to scare away the dragon. THE SPINNING EGG. Here is a curious little trick with an unboiled egg. Place the egg on its side on a plate and then, with a sharp twist, set it spinning. When it has been spinning for a few mom'ents bring the palm of your hand gently down on the egg, and stop the movement. Lift your hand, and in a second or two, much to your surprise, the egg starts to revolve once more. The reason for this is that when you put your hand on the egg you only stop the movement of the shell. The liquid contents continue to swing round and this is sufficient to start £Re egg spinning. WHAT IS A “SLEEPER?" A sleeper is one who sleeps. A sleeper is the name of a carriage on the railway In which a sleeper sleeps. A sleeper is the name of a baulk of wood that holds the rails on which the sleeper runs while the sleeper sleeps. Therefore, while the sleeper sleeps in the sleeper the sleeper carries the sleeper over the sleeper under the sleeper until the sleeper which carries the sleeper jumps the sleeper and wakes the sleeper in the sleeper by striking the sleeper under the sleeper on the sleeper, and there is no longer any sleep for the sleeper who was sleeping in the sleeper on the sleeper. —L.M.S. Magazine. (Sent by Frances Miller, Rangitata Isand).