A GULF IDYLL.

Waikato Argus, Volume IV, Issue 294, 28 May 1898, Page 1 (Supplement)

A GULF IDYLL.

Across a treeless expanse of yellow plain a horseman was riding slowly. Behind, like a dog, .the pack-horse followed, stopping every now and then for a bite out of a crown of withered Mitchell grass. They seemed like a couple of flies crawling over some gigantic ceiling. There was no cloud in the sky everywhere the sun poured down a flood of blinding light and heat. Away to the west, the vague summit of a mountain rose faintly above the horizon—a dim, blue isle afloat in a sea of midst. In the north, a few scattered groups of cattle, nibbling at the grass roots, were distorted by the quivering blaze into beings of fantastic shape and size. A dark timber-line, far on the eastern sky rim, marked the river, towards which some half a dozen parallel wheel-tracks, cut by teamsters waggons, appeared to lead. Every now and again the horseman would pass a heap of bleached and shining bones, where a bullock had given up the unequal fight against famine and the forces of nature. There was nothing else to be seen except a few hawks wheeling overhead, a black snake coiled asleep on a cattle-pad, and a red dingo slut limping curiously, a mile away, on the horseman's traoks ; nothing to be heard save the " chink chink," of the hobble-rings on the pack-saddle, It was nearly noon, and the ground gave back the fierce heat of the sun's rays like a furnace.

The rider, sitting easily in his saddle, was a rather under-sized man about forty, with a square figure and a skin burnt to a deep mahogany by twenty years of a Gulf sun. His features were sharp and prominent, like those of a bird of prey, a straggly black and grey beard covered the lower half of his face, his hair was long and matted, his hands brown and nervous, and he had lost one eye from a spear wound—but it was commonly said, iu the Gulf, that what ho failed to

observe with the other was not worth seeing. His weather-stained moleskins, shirt, and leggings were mended and patched with anything handy. Indeed, it had been remarked of him, with truth, that, had all other trades failed, he would easily have made a living by hiring himself out as a chessboard. On his head was a battered cabbagetree hat, almost black, with a frayed cheek-strap for a pugaree. His boots were softened with turkey's fat, and tied with laces manufactured out of kangaroo skin. An old spur, with a piece of green-hide for a strap, dangled at his left heel. His whole air was that of the rebel and man at war with his kind. The horse, a big boned black, jogged steadily along with a sort of running shuffle, which covered the ground rapidly ami evenly. He was a fine looking animal, showing sign of blood in his lean head, small fine ears, bright, quick eyes, and elastic tread. The reins lay carelessly on his neck, as the rider whittled a small stick of nailroad tabacoo, with a dirty knife with a broken blade. "If she sat Muddy Springs, I'll get her tormorrer night," he muttered grimly, glancing at his shadow as he rode. " Shan't strike the river till a 'our arter sundown. They said at the Ten Mile, she'd been there sum time." He puffed savagely at the pipe hehad just lighted—the rapid, impatient pufts of a man of action. "I've a mind to drive a hole through Tupper for this job," he went on, the fingers of his right Jiand moving instinctively to the revolver on the fronj of the saddle. " But it'? too soon yet. I can wait." A grim smile crept over his face. " We'd a real good time, two years," he continued, softly, " she an' me—real mates. An' we made money drovin', and there ain't one of 'em gin-stockmen, or stock-wim-men, as rides about in moles and shirts like little dried up men, as can track an' ride like 'er—an' she's nearly pure white, with only the littlest dash of nigger, A smart little cove she were—worth any two men, when a mob's breakin' !" " But there's no doubt she's chancy," he continued, sternly, to himself. " Yes ; she's changy like the rest of 'em all. Maybe it's in the blood. Au' it ain't the first time she's given me the slip. An' it's about time she knew she ain't got no bloomin' new-chum to deal with." His meditations were interrupted as he felt the black colt freshen under him. and the pack-horse come charging behind with a whinny. The sun had set, and the horses smelt the river water. Soon they were girth-deep in a waterhole drinking as horses drink after a dry stage of forty miles. Before long, Basset had hobbled them out, given the colt a small mess of flour and water, for the grass was scarce. Then he made his fire, and sat down to wait for the billy to boil. He did not wasli. Gulf men never do. They might catch cold, He fetched a bottle of Worcester sauce from his swag, and, pouring a stiff nobbier into his pannikin, gulped it down. It would have made most men weep, he did nob even cough. "A dash of painkiller ©r a bit o' cayenne would 'ave made it bite better," was his sole remark, He ate his junk and damper and drank his tea, gazing meditatively into the fire and then out on to the plain that spread like a great greyish silver sea on three sides of him. The horses were moving sluwly out to grass, a mile away. The chink of the hobble-rings and the tinkle of the horse-bell came floating back fitfully. These, and the melancholy wail of a curlew, alone broke the silence of the night. The air was almost mild, yet he cowered over the fire, spreading out his hands as he smoked his aftertea pipe. With his wrinkled skin, square frame, and mahogany hue, he might have been some mummy that had suddenly walked out of an Egyptian tomb. Next morning at daylight, Mr Dom Bassett—or Dom, the Bandicoot, as he was better known to the police—started for the Springs. About noon he camped, hobbled out the pack-horse, and planted the pack-saddle and rations in the hollow trunk of a dead tree. Then he had a snack, and lay down for a smoke, whilst he matured his plan of capture. He would not have looked so pleased if he could have seen what was taking place thirty miles down the river. At Tallaran Head Station—as the row of log huts on high river bank was called—all was bustle. Two troopers and a blacktracker, on knocked up horses, had just como in and asked for fresh mounts and a feed. Tupper, the manager, a tine-looking man with a dissipated face, was talking to them eagerly. The tracks were fresh, the blackboy said, and they ought to get their man by the morning. But it was Dom Bassett, and he was riding a fast one —-the bes' in the Burke—the colt he had stolen from Biddleton. He was wanted for half a dozen more jobs as well, one of the troopers explained. Tupper went inside for his rifle. " I'll come too," he said," with aa

evil grin, " and you can have the pick of the station nags." He had never felt safe since the girl had taken up her residence on the run.

Meanwhile Bassett, unencumbured by the pack-horse, was cantering on, It was twenty-five miles to the Springs, and he did not get there until after sundown. He pulled up a mile from the outstation, and struck out for the plain. He wished to approach the hut from the opposite side. There was not a cloud in the sky. By the starlight, he could see sufficiently for his purpose, as he knew the country well. Soon he came on the river again, and, dismounting hitched his bridle to a sapling near a tall gum tree, a hundred yards from the out-station. Should he take the revolver 1 He hesitated. No, there was only a woman to deal with, He stole on without it, leaving the colt in the shadows. The moon was up, and he could see the rails of the big stockyard shiniug like silver under its rays. To the right, on the high river bank, stood the hut; to the left, the uncouth-looking mounds and morasses of the Mud Springs. With a noiseless step Bassett crept on, hugging the river bank and gliding from one tree shadow to another. The door of the hut lay wide open, but there seemed to be nobody about. He was now close to the slab wall. The shutter stood unloosened, and he looked in. The moonlight made the interior clearly visible. A couple of pannikins and a tin plate stood on a rough table, a billy near the dying embers of the fire. A cabbage-tree hat and some clothes hung on pegs, and a few old newspapers lay about.' On the greenhide couch, in the corner, some one, wrapped in blankets, was asleep. On the wall opposite a stockwhip, with a carved handle, hung from a nail. It caught Bassett's eye at once, and he recognised it as one he had himself given to the girl, " It's her," he muttered. "I'm doin' pretty well."

He went round to the door and entered softly. "No dog about," he thought. He stood still for a moment to listen. There was nothing to be heard. Presently he crept closer. " Sound asleep !" he said to himself, "but I can't hear no breathin." He stepped up to the bulk and laid his hand on the sleeper's shoulder. She did not move. He 'shook her. " Oome, Loo," he cried, impatiently, " get up!" But his touch told him that he was holding nothing save an old swag, wrapped in blankets. A peal of laughter from the window made him turn with a leap. A girl's* face was there, smiling at him from outside. He caught the gleam of a pistol-barrel at the same time. She held it levelbd at his head, and, by the irony of fate, it was his own revolver. " How smart, Dom Bas3ett !" she said, showing her white teeth as she smiled, " But next time you goes for to capture me, I wouldn't leave my revolver an' a blood colt worth a hundred notes where any fool could shake 'em. if I was you." .... " Dom," she said, gaily, "if I gives you back the horse an' revolver what'll do ?" " Shoot you first," he answered, promptly, " an' then Tupper." " Dom," she asked, " wouldn't Tupper be enough V " Maybe !"-he answered, guardediy. " Look here!" she went on. " You're a bad lot, but you're game." Bassett grinned. " Well, Tupper's a bad 'un, an' he ain't game," she announced, with scorn. There was a pause, and neither seemed to know what to say next. It was the girl who spoke first. " Ain't you tired of change V she said, softly. " That may be," he replied. " I was thinkin' that I was," she murmured. " Shall we start fresh, as it were V he suggested persuasively. " Very well, Dom," she cried. " Take the revolver. I'm comin' inside." . . . She put the revolver into his hand. " Well, you're a rum 'un !" he remarked, in a slow, peculiar tone. " What's to stop me payin' you out for what you threatened awhile " 1 ain't frightened of that, Dom," she answered. "You're a funny little cove. You wos so from the jump," he went on queerly. " An, yer thinks you'll take up with me, fer the rest of the time^" ' I think so, Dom," she said, shyly resting her cheek against his. He gathered her in his arms. ' You're a funny little cove," he said, kissing her; "an' you gets round me every time." She lay there quietly, her face very white, her eyes looking dreamily up —not into his but into some vague dream of her own, perchance a dream of what a truelived life might mean. She gave a little sigh of content, and brought her eyes back to his. u There's a chap on Barclay Tableland, over iu Northern Territory, an* Fve done him a good turn occasional," Dom said gently ; " an' he said to me one day, • Look 'ere,

Basset you're the best hand with cattle I know. Turn up the game an' live straight, an' I'll give you a job any day you like.'- ' Permanent job,' he said. S'pose we go, Loo !" She smiled. " Termorrer," she answered. " I've two good horses of my own, an' we can clear out termorrow." " Then I'll go an' hobble out the colt," said Don, loosening his arm. " Not yet!" she whispered, putting her arm round his neck. Suddenly sha sprang to her feet. " What's that?" she cried holding up her hand warningly. He followed her the door. They stood thore together, listening intently. " It's the troopers !" she whispered convulsively clutching his arm. " I can see their horses tied up by the bend." She strained her eyes to right and left. "There's two ruovin' along the river over there," she said, hurriedby, " an' one creepin' in by the stockyard, an' another sneakin' over to the colt. "Run, Dom !" she cried, thrusting the revolver into his hand. " Run for the colt! Quick man ! There's only one on that side, an' you'll get there before him yet." Don started forward like a hare, keeping to the shadows, and she followed him. The man nearest the colt—it was Tupper himself—saw them, and started off with a shout. The others wero too far away, the morass of the springs cut them off. One man ran back for the horses. The others fired, but Bassett ran on unharmed. The troopers swore. Another minute or two would have rendered capture inevitable. Tupper from one side, and Dom from the other, both at about equal distances from the big tree, rushed on, each straining every nerve to reach the horse first. A rifle bullat from the trooper by the stockyard shattered a branch close to Bassett's head. Still they ran on unhurt. The manager dared not fire lest he should hit the woman, "Shoot, Dom, shoot!" shouted the girl. "It's your only chance. Shoot the nearest —it's Tupper !" Dom fired, and the man dropped with a yell of agony, shot through the knee. In another moment they had reached the colt. He was trembling with excitement, snorting, and tugging at his bridle. A second later he would have been off with a broken rein. " Quick, Dom !" she cried, as two bullets whizzed past and the colt leapt with terror. And now Dom's foot was in the stirrup, and she turned triumphantly. As she did S 3 she saw something that made her heart turn cold. Tupper, prone on the ground, despite his shattered knee, was taking a careful sight at the horseman. He was scarcely thirty yards away. The next moment there came the crack of a rifle a puff of smoke—and Bassett, unhurt, was racing round the bend out of the line of fire as fast as the colt, rendered unmanageable by terror could take him. But the girl lay quiet under the shadow of the tree, and the strange, wayward life was at an end.