FRIENDS

Timaru Herald, Volume CXLVI, Issue 21244, 14 January 1939, Page 2 (Supplement)

FRIENDS

CHAPTER 11.

The twilight of an early summer’s evening was beginning to deepen into dusk as Sam, running swiftly, took the shortest route to the Makura River. He sped through Mr Bissett’s large plantation, gazing anxiously at the skies. He must reach the river before the light failed, for it would be a difficult job to pick his way across the shingle bar in the dark. A cruel and relentless river, this Makura, with its vast expanse of water, its swift and swirling currents. For sixteen years Sam had lived within sight of the river, threading its way through the district of Sunny Vale, like a huge sinister silver snake. He knew where the largest trout lurked, and where the river was shallow enough to use a spear with good results. He knew where the grey ducks and the mallards nested, and could tell the haunts of the pukekos and the shags. He knew, too, what even the oldest shepherds did not know—that a shingle bar stretched from a certain bend in the river to Willow Island, some two hundred yards away. When the river was low, as it was at present, it was possible to walk across this shingle bar—possible, that is, if one knew exactly where to walk. A false step, and you were fathoms deep in the swirling currents. Could you but keep on the shingle bar, the water, at the deepest part, was not above your armpits.

So Sam sped on, anxious to make the crossing while there was yet light. Willow Island was the favourite haunt of the wild river horses,

and Grey Boy might be there, wounded and in pain. Sam sped swiftly on, his mind switching back to the time, three years ago, when, a lad of thirteen, he was a stable boy in Mr Bissett’s employ. Grey Boy, son of the famous Ironbark, winner of so many big races, was then a yearling in the Bissett stables. Pretty as a picture was Grey Boy, and already showing promise of his father’s speed. But he was a temperamental colt, highly strung and sensitive. Somehow Sam, alone of the stable hands, understood the horse’s peculiar nature. Perhaps the boy’s own loneliness and his own eager, untamed spirit had something akin to that of the colt. For Sam’s mother had died

when he was a baby and his father was a drunken wastrel. The boy had known no home life and at an early age had learned to fend for himself. Through his very hunger he acquired skill in the art of poaching. Trout and game and birds fell an easy prey to him. This very skill, and his cunning in evading the law, had earned for him the name of Slippery Sam. As yet, no one had seen the possibilities in the boy, no one had sensed his eager, ardent nature —no one but Grey Boy the colt. A peculiar friendship sprang up between the lonely boy and the sensitive horse. When Grey Boy heard Sam’s step

he would gallop up with a glad whinny and dive his nose under the boy’s arm for the tit-bits he was so sure of finding in the torn pockets. And yet, at the aproach of anyone else, the colt, raising his head in timid fear, would gallop away with a loud snort. It was thus, one day, that Mr Bissett found the horse and the boy. Grey Boy was nosing playfully in Sam’s pocket and Sam was gently rubbing the colt behind his soft ears. “Here, Grey Boy,” said Sam softly, holding out a couple of sugar lumps. With a contented whinny, the colt took the sugar, curling up his top lip in delight. “Here, you lazy young loafer, what d’ye think you’re doing—wasting my time like this! And where did you

get that sugar?” With a loud snort Grey Boy kicked up his heels and fled.

“1 asked cook for the sugar,” said Sam quietly. “Grey Boy loves it.” “I’ll teach you to pamper my horses,” yelled Bissett. “And I’ll teach that petted colt to run away from me. Here, Jock! Here, James! Catch that colt! I’ll knock some spirit into the cowardly brute.” Sam watched, wild-eyed, while the two men caught the colt, securing him with a stout halter. He watched Grey Boy trembling as they led him to Mr Bissett. Then, horrified, he saw the stock whip in Bissett’s hand, saw his raised arms, heard the squeal

of fright from Grey Boy. “Hold him, men,” yelled Mr Bissett. Again and again and again the cruel whip struck. Grey Boy was white with foam, his sides were raw and bleeding. “You brute—you bullying brute!” With a scream of rage Sam hurled himself at the man, striking with his small fists. For a moment Mr Bissett was taken by surprise. Then his lips curled in a cruel smile. So, my young cock-sparrow, j'ou want taming too, do you? Well—take that —and that —and that!” Again and again the whip curled round the boy’s young body, and at last he staggered and fell. Serves you right," muttered Bissett, and walked away. Jock and James had carried the senseless boy to the hut and put him on a bunk. At bedtime, they were surprised to see the bunk empty and next morning neither the colt, nor the boy were to be found. It was a week before Sam was seen again and Mr Morten, hearing of Bissett’s brutality, found a job for him on a neighbouring farm. of the grey colt nothing was seen or heard, and it was generally surmised that he had broken away and joined the wild river horses. Only the stars could have told the tale of a small boy, sore and bruised, who picked his way across the shingle bar of the treacherous Makura river. Only the stars could have told of a soft voice, coaxing, caressing. “Come on, Grey Boy gently gently.” Only the stars saw the hand that soothed the tired and timid horse and eventually led him safely to Willow Island. Only the stars could have told of a tired boy who stiffly bathed the colt's wealed flanks, and eventually slept beside him. For a week the boy stayed with his friend, soothing the shattered nerves, bathing the wounded sides; and not long after the grey colt joined the wild river horses. But Grey Boy never forgot his friend, and frequently still, Sam paid visits to Willow Island. For three years he had jealously guarded his secret, and to-day, no one knew of the shingle bar, or guessed of the fast friendship between the notorious Slippery Sam and the wild grey horse of the river.

(To be Continued)