"DISCRETION IS THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR."

Star (Christchurch), Issue 10536, 10 August 1912, Page 3

"DISCRETION IS THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR."

, (By M. W. MOIR.)

[All Rights Reserved.]

"Well, boys, any more letters P" " No. I. think you've, got the last. Oh, but here's Cooky with a ponderous epistle in a pink envelope. That ought to bring joy to the heart of some fair charmer, though no doubt, Harry, it will add to the weighty of your responsibilities to be entrusted with such treasure."

" Mighty good cheek," muttered the offended individual who answered to the euphonious title? of " Cooky;". at the same time adding a terse sentence which might be interpreted to mean that the last speaker was deserving of a post of honour in the service of his Satanic Majesty. However, as he knew words would only he wasted on Bill Logan, ho assumed an impressive Biience and commenced washing up the dinner dishes in a more dignified manner than is customary for such an operation.

"Well, in that, case-I'd better mak© tracks, for the sooner I get there the sooner I'll be hack. And this snowwon't improve matters," said Harry Murdstone with qiiite an undue regard for the ruffled feelings and haughty demeanour of the cook. "So long, boys! I've a list of all the things you want from the store," and with a wave of his arm and a "Get up, Bess!" he rode off to the nearest town/ 'fifteen miles away.

The scene which lay before him was one which could not fail to gladden the heart of a lover of Nature. For the last two days the snow had been falling continuously, and now, as far as the eye could see, was one wide stretch of sparkling whiteness glittering like diamonds in the mid-day sun. Away to the west the snow-clad heights of the Southern Alps reared their giant heads, and in their sublime beauty and solemn grandeur seemed to bear witness to the majesty and power of their Divine Creator. To Harry Murdstone, his first winter, in New Zealand, the scene was inexpressibly lovely and recalled to him memories of the festive season of Christmas in his own happy home, now so far away in "Bonnie**Scotland." The recollection could not but be tinged with regret for loved faces and: unforgotten scenes. But Harry was in philosophical mood, and he mused i

" suppose it is the same with, all of 18. We can't have everything, and somehow, when we feel the want of anything very much there is always something else to make up for it. Why, even the trees there have been robed in their mantles of white as if to make up for the ravages of autumn," so, his mind uplifted by the. beauty around him, he began whistling a tune and went contentedly on his way. 'But to return to the mates at the camp. "It's a confounded nuisance,'" Bill Logan was saying, " that the ' new chum ' had to go. We can't plough to-day, ( that's a moral. And what on earth is the, use of a three-handed game of euchre?" ' _But Cooky, who had not regained his usual equanimity, vouchsafed no reply. And so the time dragged'on till about two in the afternoon, when Jack Brunsden, the son of a neighbouring farmer, dropped in for a "yarn." Then with one consent cards were brought out and pipes were lit, for somehow in this station whare the suggestion of a game of euchre was always synonymous' with the request, " Have a smoke," and soon the air reeked with toibacoo fumes ■ and the sultry expressions of the men who gave vent to their feelings in their own characteristic way according as the luck was with, them or * against them. Perhaps it was as well they had a pipe for solace, for certainly there was little in the room itself, save for the blazing fire of logs, 'that could add to their comfort.

The furniture of the " happy home " only to its inmates by that name) consisted *of an old table round which the four men were seated, a couple of chairs rather shaky owing to age and perhaps stern treatment, and an old box which nobly served the double duty of cupboard and seat. In fact, everything that could be utilised for seating accommodation was adapted to that purpose, and at present one of the men was comfortably seated on the bed. A ladder standing almost perpendicular with the wall led to' the " spare" bedroom, as it had been ironically called by a former inmate,

but which might more aptly be described as a loft, in rammer used as a sleeping apartment, but now, owing to the fact that the roof had an unfortunate habit of leaking, deserted for the warmer though mors crowded region of the dining-room, kitchen and bedroom combined. So the three men hailed with delight the arrival of Jack Brunsden, as affording them an opportunity to indulge in their favourite pastime. Books, mainly bearing the name of Nat Gould or Charles Garvice, were thrown into a corner.

-" You take this chair, Jack," came the kindly request spoken by the irrepressible Bill, and though Jack, with a doubtful glance at its shaky legs, declared that a box would do him just as 'well, still the men protested that, station hands though they were, they would not bo guilty of such a breach of social etiquette. So, all his objections being overruled, the visitor acquiesced, though he did not feel reassured by the ominous creak that came from "the most comfortable chair in the place," as he sat down on it. So the afternoon was whiled away in this fashion, until at last the wants of the inner man beginning to make themselves known, an adjournment was made to enable the cook to prepare the "dainty" meal of fried chops and onions. The tablecloth, in the form of newspapers, was laid. The men professed to have a righteous contempt for the conventional damask, and sounded the merits of the whare substitute by declaring it to be cleaner, cheaper and,' last, but not least, more instructive than the other. On this particular night- Bill Logan amused himself and the company by, reading out scraps* of information contained in the- table cloth! Of course the burglaries in Auckland and the "crime wave in' Australia,*' as being moro sensational, came in for their share of discussion. At any. rate, bo this as it may, a general discussion followed, each man relating his own particular theory and somehow cards seemed to lose their attraction, for after tea, Cooky embarked on a'striking narrative of his own adventures.. So the men perforce drew in their chairs to the fire, to listen, to him. There wgs nothing Cooky liked better than being the hero of one of the exploits of his I own recording. Really, the number of times he had been in jaws of death and had come away scath- j less and triumphant was truly appalling. In fact he declared the reason why he was not then wearing the Victoria Cross was that the feeling of modesty was so ; pronounced in his nature as to prevent his ever accepting , any recognition of his deeds of bravery, though time and again the reward or valour had been pressed upon him. So it is with all great natures. True worth is always modest. The stories with which the cook favoured liis audience were lacking neither in variety nor vivid description, ghost stories such as would make the boldest shiver and feel glad the lamp was lit, tales of the old bushranging days, where it was usual to hang a man just to break the legends of the gold digging: days of . Otago, where Cooky, single-handed, defended ' his wounded mate, with-a delicate wife and four children, against four murderous villains who had stuck up the camp and demanded their surrender. But Cooky, with his Maori war whoop rushed out' amongst them and dealt such death dealing blows with only a poker for a weapon that two ■ ■ men having been stretched out stiff on the ground, the others with the cry " We've struck Old Nick 1" decamped as fast as their fearstricken limbs would' allow them. Having recounted this unrecorded tale of heroism, Cooky pushed his hands into his pockets, expanded his chest, and stretching out his legs to the fire, gazed around to see what effect this account of his. exploits might have upon his audience. He ought to have been well satisfied, for whether it was the ghost stories, the tales of _ Cooky's bravery, or perhaps both combined, tho effect on at least one of his listeners was, to say the least of it, alarming. The visitor, Jack Brunsden, was shift-, ing uneasily in his chair, his eyes, au if in a very fever of abject fright, were bulging In ids head, and bis power of 6peech seemed to have deserted him. Cooky's, bosom swelled with pride. Never before had he been able to rouse his listeners to such a pitch of agitation. He was just beginning, "I remember how I " When suddenly, he was interrupted by a sharp exclamation from Bill Logan, and turning he saw that all three, with faces pale and drawn, had their eyes riveted on something at the back of him. It needed but one glance to explain the cause of their alarm, and twisting slowly round in his chair, the cook/behold a sight which caused his bold heart to quail, for there, pointing right at their heads, were two pistols, their muzzles inserted through the broken panes of glass in the dilapidated window. The men sat transfixed' with terror ami. fright. Not a sound escaped from one of them. Tho dreadful silence mado the position tho more intense. • Perhaps in their minds there, was some dim, undefined hope that the cook might tie able to render assistance, but he—the self-proclaimed hero of a few minutes ago—with wide opon eyes revolving in. his head and his mouth open, never turned his gaze from the window. Ho was the very picture of abject fear and helplessness. But at last, as if the hypnotic effect of that gleaming revolver had worn ■ itself off, he seemed to slightly recover himself, and, lifting his hat from the table, brought it down—crash! —on the lamp. Instantly the room was plunged into darkness, except for the wierd shadows cast by the light of 'the * fire; and now the men, with but one thought—to escape that death-dealing * weaponmade one frantic rush for the ladder. Chairs were knocked over; tho men fairly trampled on each other; clothes were torn in tho vain attempt'to climb the ladder. The cook.,♦ who was first to gain, a footing, was pulled down-by the frenzied efforts of the others attempting to rise. He landed on the top of those at the foot, and holusbolus they all fell to the floor. And Cooky weighed not a pound less than fourteen stone. The others could but gasp and splutter. It was well for Cooky that the men's desire for safety quite overcame their lust for vengeance. But this fall proved their salvation, for the more nimble ones, after they had extricated themselves from the confused heap of humanity struggling and kicking on the floor, quickly climbed the ladder to "their place of refuge in the loft. The cool-: Hindered by his weight and the shook he had received from the fall, was the last of all to mount, which ho did, devoutly praying that any sins he had committed in the past might be forgiven in this the eleventh hour. But his troubles were not all over, for the entrance to the loft was but' a narrow one and did not at all harmonise with tho massive proportions of our hero. It was only after a tremendous pull by his comrades in distress that ho succeeded in getting ..through at all. And thankful he was to have gamed the top, for while ho lay gasping on the floor, a blood-curdling yell smote their affrighted ears, and then ominous, awesome sileuce fell.

"That's poor Gyp done for!" whispered Bill, and one and all with bated breath sat huddled together awaiting tho next move. They could hear the tramp, tramp, tramp of feet around their hut. Strange they didn't force an entrance 1 And, oh, horrors! What were they to defend themselves with if they did? Well, they could tako off their boots and brain the first man who entered. But what a haul the rascally villains would getl All the last' month's cheques in the waistcoat pockets of their Sunday apparel downstairs. Perhaps Cooky would venture downP But Cooky, as ho squirmed on the floor, said that though he had a tcuner under the pillow, he wouldn't risk his head being blown to "smithereens " for that, and he wasn't ambitious to win tho martyr's crown for the c-ako of them.

So for fully,, a., quarter of an hour

they waited while the watar dropped through the roof on to their bodies. The noise outside had ceased, " but still the men would not leave their safe retreat. Hotter to porjah vriftff cold and hunger than at the hands « '' an assassin. Then whistling was heard; outside, and tho tune of "The Wearing of the Green" reached their listening ears. Oh, the cold-blooded ruffians! What could they be doing P * ■ " I'll tell you what, boys. It'sdeath by slow torture. They reckon we'll 1 just about peg out from cold and exposure," suggested Jack "Brunsden -in a scarcely audible tone. " And I'm soaked through by the damp from the roof. Oh, if eVer I get* out of this alive, I'll never more oppose Territorialism," sighed Cooky, inja voice quivering with emotion. "To think of the advantages you lads have had, quia yet you never make use of them* Witfc 'a good rifio in my hands I'd defy th« workl. :; But the atmosphere of a freezing chamber isn't conducive to good ienV; per, and with a kick from, one "of the men, and several muttered imprecation* from the others, the cook thought tit to lapse into silence. - * Whack 1 Bang 1 The door was thrown open, and a current of cold, frosty ajr ,' swept.through the trapdoor to the in-j| mates of the loft, causing them to real?,] ise more than ever the dire peril. -Tnsy 1 all shivered. Of course, it was the *3old t '." it could not have been anything elseyAt any rate, they held their boots in their bauds and prepared to meet their doom. j. Probably their last hour had oomej but, " We'll die game," whispered Cooler,-'. who now assumed leadership.- "."Bifl, ), you guard the entrance and brain "the' first man you see." But the men' mutinied, and all declined the haasardouf • position. . ', l .. Meanwhile a match was struck dowj* , stairs. The. refugees cowered away iirjxll, the farthest corner of the loft., "Sud* denly a cheery voice rang out: „ ''^ " Where are you boysP And Trhar# in thunder did you leave the lampP'i. " Oh, it's tho new chum back 'ftswi - the post," came in relieved tones from* l the region above hia head* "I"(W fc ' the place is stuck up." .:. ■ " What d'ye say?'* came backr-tita'. , astonished reply, trai. on lobkingyup,, ' Harry Murdstone gave- a gasp of atoj prise as he beheld the ghastly faoes.w! the four men peering at him from ©VW' S the edge of the trapdoor. The danger they were exposed to by showing themselves at all prevented them from B&y-«, ing anything more, but their wild, gesticulation and terrorstrioken faces soon . conveyed to Harry's usually active ' mind what was the causo of- their', trouble. . * r -„ . "Well, mates, come on| We'll, go. . and see what's up. Five of us ought to ~. be able to settle But to,tbia .. brave proposal the men in the upper. ,£> storey vouchsafed no answer except •»,, mournful shake of the head. The' k cook indeed muttered under his breath-'' that he didn't want to die yet! And , Harry—rash and impulsive Harry—went out to meet his death. .- -. .■ * His friends left behind sat and--wait-ed in an agony of suspense for the-blood-curdling groan that should herald} the fact that Harry had been Benton,.' ( another .journey—a long, long journal to another world. ■' ' * Man I he's a plucky chap V*> * mented Bill. '' Who'd hare exr/ected:a> 1 new chum to have so much grit ip bimJ If lie comes out I wqnider refuse : the Victoria Cros9' as » Cookw did!" f . '- ;> • Meanwhile tho subject of their iWJHj and admiration had, lantern inh&nq| tramped round the trhare three or nm* ' times, and then _ returned with th* cheering information: *\ " They must have gone! I donTJ;*«i them. Uome and have a look for sttoW( • fifilvfiS . ' «■* ** ■{* "Sure?" spoken-inv-a dout>tlulfi4oiiC v , from above. "Yes, certain 1" - -> So one by one they gingerly aetwpW ; ed. Last, but not least, oame Cooky! who had taken the precaution move his coat so that he might,tha' more easily manipulate the trapdoor,; • And what a fcce-ne below 1 The oancHt; showed broken chairs, broken lamp,, broken dishes. All was disorder vami' confusion. '* i "You see what a fight we madefo*] it. But the numbers overpowered said the cook; and the others' takinif/ their clue from him, wisely kjepal silence because they did not wish- taf J acknowledge the true state of affairs tj* the new chum, whom they had so often* * railed at as being a "towney" and hence a "duffer." But, wondeif <* wonders, all the money was safe. " You see; Harry, my boy, we gata them all they wanted," explainedj Cooky, rolling up his sleeves in a gestive manner. ."•-■,■ '•'No.doubt!'' was the answer. I suppose you felt the atmosphere 'of J' the top room beneficial to you a£te*'i such a heated skirmish,'' "Just so," said cook in a quieter tone, catching something of the genii* sarcasm in Harry's tone, ,

Then, after carefully barring.tho. door and another hasty inspection -/of' the window -where had rested the-ibr-, midable weapons, the men " turned in *\ •for the night, though sleep did. not come to the eyes of four of them still long after midnight. The new chum,! however, to the &urprise and admira-! tion of all,, was Bff to sleep in an, in-.' stant. • ■ ■ ' The morning light revealed mojra, distinctly the # state of - the 1 room. Everything was in confusion. It, seemed strange, suggested Harry, thatfj the burglars had taken nothing. -JJuiJi tho cook's explanation of the preceding night was accepted without more adbj Gradually the men assumed an-eiteir-*, ed tone towards the new chum, A rnaoi' who had shonn such daring and fear* lessncss in the face of almost' certaiw death was surel,y deserving of resoetitv not to say admiration. But the facftc that Harry accepted it all' -veryi] modestly, and remarked, r * Oh-, natai bish; it was nothing I" only served iffl give them a more oxaltod opinion,, of, hiai. It> was such, a contrast,to r ihe»| heroic attitude Cooky had assumed info' the past. Strange to say, the oook w:aa" now remarkably silent regarding -3nV ; heroic deeds of by-gone days.

But Harry remained unchanged. Per* ■> hapa his thoughts were too much Tjieoti- , pied with those across the eea to allow him time to grow conceited about him- ' F.elf. At any rate he wrote more-lefr-•tef s homo than ever, and in one to 'hi*. friend, Jack Valentine, he thought &b to allude to' the " sticking up of ihe camp. ■ ! '•■ - j . "It was like lie-wrote. T had ridden into town to "post niy'"lel/«\, ters home for the first steamer. *anct owing to the snow making it heavy, riding did not return'till, late. At-any; ■.- rate, when I returned to the whare, , there was the old cook" at his favoarit» pastime of. relating the tales of his own ' daring exploits -: to the hoys" seatoxi around him. In that very day's papei* I had beau reading about an ' epidemio of crime/ and whether that suggested' it to mo or not I don't know, out 1 -at any rate I had an overwhelming .long-' ing to play a'practical joke on-the men* The means were -at."hand—a screwwrench and a bike pump, which I'inserted through the broken windows. You'd have died with laughing to have seen the result. The. boy. Jack Bruhs- - saw it first and fairly quaked with fear, and in the end they all fled to tho loft. To make matters more realistic, I happened to stumble ever ;th» dog, which set up a hideous barring. In'the meantime I stalked about, out- , side. But the humorous part is this. : ; fhfy have exalted me —the caueeof all their troubles on that ©venfcfulVnight— : into a kind of hero. Andy if 1 ever a chap was in a dilemma, I am I. Should I tell them the true state of affairs an<2 get the soundest thrashing I ever had, as well as being sent out of the camphor should I act tho part of the hypps crite and receive the praise and admiration of the whole neighbourhood— tot , tho story has been voiced around —as a hero who never was listed P '• Honesty ia the best policy,' say youj but w>lfi. methinks, discretion is the'better port ~ of valour, and thoughy .-'like Hamlet,' '■' 'a tale I'could,unfold/ stfjl, under tjto;,"'. present-, circumstances., it seemß;.to.'t'.iitß w -£ that Die silent'plan is the safest 1 ' «2k'; best."- /.-mTUvV