"The Lucky Speculator,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 22 December 1927, Page 7

"The Lucky Speculator,”

A POWERFUL LOVE STORY OF A MODERN GIRL.

BY MARY DRY WE TEMPEST, Author of: “His Last Shot,” “The Second Mrs Fairfax,” etc., etc.

CHAPTER XI. Gyp Ijliliked—as it' coming' out from tlie influence of an anaesthetic, while fear crawled over the skin of her heart, its craven clutch rousing the dormant citadel of her senses and sending the blood pounding to her brain with the message: ‘‘Fly!” But there was one other message already a-wing: dumb prayer that somebody, on the other side of The Crest would get her S.O.S. in time. Faring that palsied second, a lurid picture of dancing demons'with rolling eyeballs, and gleaming teeth clenched on knives, etched itself for ever on her memory. Then her saggering limbs recovered their powers, and she ran lieet-fuoted as a chamois, towards her flimsy refuge—the hut. Once in that mad race she ventured to turn her head, for the sound of those soft, padding feet pursuing her seemed uncomfortably near, while whiffs of acrid, panting breath assailed her nostrils. To her terror, she saw that the leader of the bunch was almost on her heels. Leaping towards her like a tire-Jiend, lie was jabbering orders to his dusky followers, evidently bidding them pause, for they stopped and clustered together into a knot of gesticulating maniacs. in that moment, Gyp had measured her chances and saw that they were nil—for in the tail-end of that moment, he brandished his knife at her, making noises that could only mean: • CStop or I kill! ” ' She tore on, and lie sprang. She doubled like a hare will do. and ho shot past hereto stand, breathing heavily, between her and the hut. Then Gyp’s voice Hew in a faint, far call: “Stephen!' ’ The savage crouched for another spring, while his warriors huddled together in their tracks to watch with snapping eyes their chief's capture of this fair “lotus-maid.” They were gibbering excitedly—whether to coerce or petrify, poor Gyp could not guess. But her foremost foe had evidently changed his tactics, for he began stalking towards her with long', sliding steps his weapon hold menacingly above his head—sure of •her now, for was not retreat cut olf?

All the same, she stepped backward, with instinctive shrinking from, the evil, leering face confronting/her. Then she saw his shining muscles tauten for another spring and closed her eyes, praying for a speedy death. “Crack!”

The savage took his leap, but only to fall in frightful contortions at her feet.

As the echo of that shot died away against The Orest, a perfect babel of voices behind told her that savages, too have “nerves.”

“What White Magic is this?” their rolling eyes and screaming tongues seemed to ask each other.

They fell back a few steps, and held a voluble Council of War: then advanced on bloc.

The rifle spoke again, and another dusky warrior was hors de combat.

“Run!” shouted a voice, and Brent, hot with that mad plunge downward, was standing between her and —them. She ran —there wore not many yards to cover —and from the door looked anxiously back to see how her rescuer was faring. He had his rille. Even against nine—for he had already accounted for another—lie had a fighting chance. But had he? Brent was waging a desperate rearguard action with the butt-end of his gun; the ammunition had given out! Gvp blinked and looked again, while defeat laid its icy finger on her heart, paralysing it —but only for a moment. Then it rallied to their desperate need. In a Hash she remembered where lie kept his precious store of powder and shot, measured the distance, and streaked for it. Brent must have had eyes at the back of his head, for he yelled: “What the blazes—get back, girl!” She was back almost as lie spoke, dragging her booty after her, and stood with the door wide to admit him.

Twice those flashing knives ‘-'pinked” him, as, step by step, he gavJj ground; but he managed to leave two more on this running battlefield. But there were still seven howling dervishes frenzicdly pressing the attack. It was going to be a very near thing. The foremost touched him again —in his right amp too! Brent set his teeth and began to worry lest he could not get back alive enough to ‘‘kill littlj? Gyp.” There were two upon him now; one was certain to get him —the devil! “Clump!” A big stone came hurtling to the ground, carrying one of those with it. A well-directed blow with a bleeding flst, a backward leap, and Brent was inside with the door bolted. In an instant Gyp had clutched the still hot rifle and re-loaded it for him. Then while he fired through that little winddw she rendered first-aid, staunching the worst of his wounds. In a temporary- pause he peered cautiously down to count his “bag.” Two of the savages were carrying a comrade to their boat. There were four others waiting like attentions, and one who needed none: six in all. As he withdrew his head a knife came flashing through the aperture: a “w-ide.” Brent politely returned it — To the breast of the seventh, with a rifle-shot to follow —laming the eighth. The great battle was over. But the besieged had one more shock to bear. From a careful lookout, Brent saw the sorry remnant depart, towing his precious boat after them!

Then things went a bit “whirly,” and lie came to on Gyp’s bed, with Gyp, her soft arm round the back of his neck, forcing brandy down his throat.

In his misty, redly brain, lie fancied the .softest, sweetest lips in all the universe had met on his hot brow in a kiss—such as he had dreamed of a thousand times. . . But, of course, he soon realised that. it. was only a sick man’s fancy—born of passionate longing when in health.

In spite of it all, this proved the happiest evening Gyp had ever known. As she ran to and fro preparing suppier, passing on her way to perform some gentle ollice for her patient, her heart felt all awake, singing, and thrilling with new and delicious sensations.

For pride in “her man,” a whirlwind of passionate love for her husband, fought for pre-eminence in her breast, making sweet tumult there. Brent followed her slight, Hitting form with the'mists of weakness before his eyes—so mystically happy that he wanted life to stand still; dreading the lifting of the spell. Then she brought their meal—quite a Kit/, affair.

Rabbit-soup —thick, grilled ham, with potatoes roasted in their jackets, omelette a la francaise, coffee, with a dash of brandy, cigarettes. She apologised for the absence of napkins on the plea that “her laundry was so tiresome!”

Then Brent, to her private dismay, became himself again. >• “I’m heartily ashamed to have given you all this trouble,” he said, a strange hunger in his tired eyes; “but I’m going to lie all right now. Think I’ll turn in though. Wasn't in training for that little mill.”

“But—” .Gyp grew scarlet, then pale, “you can’t sleep—you must have the bed.” A silence in which each fancied they could hear the pounding of the other’s heart, then Brent said quietly: “My quarters will do me. I shouldn’t think of. turning” you out.” Gyp quivered as if an arrow had pierced her breast, but she said no more. She went into the hut and presently returned with her pillow and rug.

“.If you won't even use these, I shan't sleep at all.” she said, in a small, husky voice. •She averted her eves in time to avoid his probing stare. “Seems you are pretty well used up too,” he said gently. -“Gyp—l’m awfully sorry to have to ask you—will you help me get that carcase under, 1 the sand?”

Gyp suppressed an involuntary shudder. Without a word she accompanied him to the spot where it lay, and worked with a will at their gruesome task, sparing him all she could. When it was over lie thanked her gratefully, and bade her sleep without fear.

Still with the radiance of her beautiful new worship upon her, Gyp went back to her hut, to spend a white night, basking in the wonder of it all. Love, the real thing, revealed itself to her as the most selfless thing in all the world, as well as the holiest and sweetest. So this girl-wife in the rapture of her passion, resolved to content herself with secretly loving—scarcely daring to hope that in some far-off time he might stoop to give her love for love.

Three days ago, she nearly starved rather than do hand’s turn for him; to-night she gloried in the “cordon bleu” he had laughingly told her she had won by her culinary achievements! She even enjoyed that gruesome gravedigging because she was working for him. How curious it all was! Then the pendulum of her mind swung back, and a panic seized her. Suppose Stephen found out that the girl he distrusted had given him her love —unasked.

A perfectly ghastly facer this for proud, sensitive Gyp. Before she slept she vowed that red-hot pincers should not drag her poor little secret from her —unless—unless some blessed day should dawn. She wanted to dream on that, and fell asleep. Despite yesterday’s strain, she was early, astir, and ran —past that heap in the sand —to enjoy her morning batlie, then coming back, fresh as a rose, she busied herself with breakfast.

Bacon and eggs, rather burnt toast, butter, marmalade, the menu. (To be Continued).