NEW ZEALAND STORIES.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVIII, Issue 21, 20 November 1912, Page 55

NEW ZEALAND STORIES.

The Editor desires to state that New Zealand Stories by New Zealand writers are published on this page regularly. The page is open to any contributor, and all accepted stories will be paid for at current rates. Terse bright sketches of Dominion life and people, woven in short story form, are required,, and should be headed "New 'Zealand Stories.’’ Stamps for return of MS. must be enclosed

Counted Out.

By

OLIVE E. ELLISON, Napier.

wry TIE sun looked like a ball of lire II ! through the haze, of smoke that I hung about. A “burn” was in progress up on the range of mountains, and the pungent odour of burning bush pervaded the atmosphere. The wind wailed round the Corners of the street and blew a cloud of dust and leaves high up into the air. It was one of those typical little upcountry townships which spring into existence along a railway line. It. consisted of the inevitable hotel and billiard saloon, a blacksmith’s forge, a general store, ami a few other straggling shops and houses. There seemed to be hardly anyone about; in fact, the place seemed, half asleep. One felt inclined to wonder how the owners of the shops managed to eke out an existence, judging by the amount of business that seemed to come their way. For the most part they were idly smoking, leaning by their doorposts, waiting patiently for something to turn up. - A few lazy-looking Maoris in brightlycoloured clothing, sat about in groups, or squatted on the doorsteps. Most of them were smoking, iu their usual stolid silence. Several sleepy-looking dogs were lying in the road blinking in the sun. The only sounds of life seemed to come from the blacksmith’s forge near by. where the constant ring of the hammer on the anvil broke upon the silence. Occasionally, too, from the surrounding paddocks, came the lowing of the cattle and the bleating of the sheep. Now and then, perhaps, a rider would come in from tin' surrounding districts, and immediately his or her movements would become the centre of attraction. On a bench outside the hotel a leanfaced man with an empty coat-sleeve hanging at his side, sat in.silence, gazing idly at the scene before him.' He was sitting in a listless attitude and his face wore a hopeless and dejected look. A casual observer would never have guessed that he was a gentleman by birth ami breeding, with a college education at his back. A grim smile hung about the corners of Iris mouth as he sat there deep in thought. He was realising the failure that he was and the success he might have been. If only one could start again, lie mused, and a sigh escaped him as he thought of all the opportunities he had lost and time that he had wasted. Just then the f sun dropped down behind the range of mountains —a reminder of the utter impossibility of ever trying to make the wheels of time move back. Hid memories of his college days at Oxford came floating through his brain; and again the mirthless smile appeared about the corners of his mouth. He wondered what his friends would think could they but see him now'. His soul was filled with vain regret for the time that ho had frittered so aimlessly away. What a waster he had been, he told himself; but how was he to know what the future had in store?

lie had laughed and played his way through college and was popular with everyone. He had the proud distinction of having been their best all-round athlete, and with him as “stroke” they had always pulleel their college boat to victory. As far. as examinations were concerned, however, ho had always drawn a blank, and by the end of his college career he had failed to taka a degree. At the time it had not seemed to matter. He had a handsome allowance from his father, and would inherit all his money. His mother had died when he was very young, and he had been the only child. There was no

need for him to earn his living, and life, to him, seemed made for pleasure. For a year or two, like the proverbial rolling stone, he had knocked about the world: and his friends never knew where bis next address would be. About that time the South African war had broken out. and he had been in the thickest of the tight. The end of it had been, for him. the V.C.—but an empty coatsleeve hanging to his side—the result of having saved a comrade’s life at exceeding risk to his own. Unfortunately, the man w*hose life he saved had died of frvor afterwards.

At the time, the loss of his good right arm had not seemed of much consequence to him. One could get along, he reasoned, very well with only one arm left, and once more he set oil’ on his travels round the world. But he soon discovered that life to a one-armed man with money, ami to a one-armed man without, assumed a very different aspect.

He was in New Zealand when news had reached him of his father’s death and loss of all his fort urn-. The money that he had in ham! soon dwindled down to less and less: ami he was confronted by the fact that he must earn his thing. He had tried his best to find- some occupation, but there seemed nothing that he was qualified to do. He soon found out that any work that did not seem to need an arm, he had not the qualifications to enable him to till .the position: and again he thought bitterly of his wasted opportunities. At last the plain bald truth began

to stare him in the fare. Somehow, people didn’t seem to need him. Some had told him bluntly, ami others'more politely,, but everywhere he went it had always been the same. There were many other mon who could do the work more quickly, and ever so much better, and he could not help but see that he had been turned down.’ Not that he had blamed them. It was only human

nature to want the quickest and best worker for the money that they paid. •So here he was at without a penny in his pocket, a derelict on life’s ocean, regarded useless, counted out. He felt in his pockets for tobacco and a match, but his hand felt only emptiness. A little bitter laugh escaped him. It is not a pleasant feeling to realise tin* fact that one is “on the rocks.’’ Just then a group of riders arrived at the hotel. They had been ht work on a st;ttion further back, and with the knowledge of good fat cheques in their possession, they felt disposed to be convivial, ami invited him to have a drink. He thanked them for tin* invitation, but steadfastly refused. He did not care to accept hospitality he was unable to return. They jeered at him for his abstemiousness. but he met their gibes with silence. Lit,tle did they know that while they were so recklessly spending money on their drinks he was 'out there starving, with not enough to buy a meal. ' Just then another man came riding up the road. and soon all.eyes were turned in his direction. Evidently he had a very good opinion of himself. He spoke with an air of calm assurance ami superiority, ami seemed convinced that his horse, his land, and all that he possessed were quite the finest in the country. From where he sat. the one-armed man could hear what he was saying, as he fell into conversation with the other men. There was nothing njueh of interest to him. but suddenly a sentence caught his ear. < “Yes,” the man was saying, “he’s nothing but a fool. M< < low an, to keep that old lame horse that‘can’t be used at all. Some silly, mawkish notion’ of not having the beast shot. Has tunled him out to grass, until he dies a natural death. Ugh!” be said, contemptuously. “None of that for mine. Every beast must earn its keep, or else give place to one that will.” The one-armed man got up and strolled away. An idea had suddenly taken possession of his brain. Perhaps this McGowan, who Was too soft-hearted, to shoot a useless horse, might have sdme. work to give a one-armed man. Crossing the road he went over to the store, and addressed the‘man who was leaning by the doorpost. , “Please can you direct me to Me-' Gowan’s ?” . - ■ I “McGowan’s,” said the man, as - he took a pencil from behind his ear, ami began to scratch his head. “ Hiding ?” he a ski'd abruptly, 3 As J lib turhetP'and looked at him. , “ No, walking,” the man answered. “ Well, just toiler up along th/} railway line till you get past the second bridge • then strike oil to yer right across , the paddocks. McGowan's is the big 'ouse yer’ll see before yer on a rise. jt‘s the only one about just there,/and so yer can’t mistake it.” He 'paused, a moment, and then wont on again. “I’ll be a rather goodish bit to walk. but. with .steady going, yer ought ter get thereabout 10 o’clock tonight.’ It’s ratherjr lonely too, but about 9■ o’clock' yer-ll meet the down express.? : . • .. -f The man thanked him and moved off. The storeman wab hed him till he was out of sight. “ Poor chap,”, he muttered Io himself, “he sort of looks as if he’s up against it.” . k .

When darkness fell around him the wne armed man was well upon his way. .The night seemed darker from the pall of smoke that hung about, and the wind moaned and whistled through the treetops. On and on he went, with the pangs of hunger growing keener every minute. In time he reached a bridge, and stopped to rest awhile. The man had told him that lie would have to cross the second bridge before he reached McCowan’s. How lonely it all seemed. There was not a house in sight, and no fcound but the gurgling of the river and the wailing of the wind. The country found about seemed very wild and grand. The railway seemed to run through a kind of gorge or gully, skirting round by the side of a steep sloping hill, with the river down below on the other side. The |>ush, with which it had formerly been Covered, had been partly cleared by fire to put the railway through. -Higher up, however, some charred gaunt trees were standing out against the sky. One of these kept creaking in the wind, and it BCemed to him as though a soul hart been encased in it and was trying to get free. He stood and looked at it, the tall gaunt trunk, with one blackened arm Extended. Somehow it seemed to remind him of himself—counted out, just a Ctnnberer of the ground. He looked over at the swiftly-flowing river, gurgling in the darkness down below, which all the time seemed calling him to come. It would be so easy just to sink to rest. Suddenly he pulled himself together with a start. Was it he, he wondered, who had almost done this thing ? He who had always thought a man a coward and a shirker who would throw away his life. He set his jaw more firmly, and continued on his way. No doubt,, weariless and hunger had begun to tell upon his mind. He squared his shoulders sternly and got a firmer grip upon himself. The wind rose sobbing, ending in a wail, and the dead tree creaked derisively. He could hardly keep his footing. The jvind seemed suddenly to gain in force as it came rushing through the gully. He had only walked a few steps further when he heard a splitting, rending, crash. He started, and looked- round. The wind had blown the dead tree over and it was rolling down the hill. A convulsive- shudder-shook him, as he flood and watched it. It had fallen on the very spot where he had just been standing. A little while before he had Wished to die ; little had he known how near him death was passing. Had he not moved on just then as he did, he would now probably be dead. There must surely be some reason for his living—why he had been thus spared. The thought had hardly flashed across his btain’when he had seen the reason ; the dead tree as it lay was half across the line, and in a little while the traiij would come, rushing onwards to its fate. All the tales which he had heard of trains derailed and wrecked, came rushing through his mind. With one comprehensive glance he took the situation in, and shuddered as he saw what must be the inevitable results ; the tree across the line and the river down below. The jgater seemed to gurgle with malicious spite, as if it knew already of the lives that .it would claim. The man looked rbund him in a hopeless way, as the magnitude of his responsibility dawned suddenly upon him ; and his soul was filled with blank despair. He had not a match, that he might light a fire, is a kind of warning signal. It was but another instance of the irony of that this thing should have happened in such a lonely place, with one near to help except a one-armed man. Again there came the wailing of the wind, ami the sound of running water, while all-the while the precious time was flying. It was so long since he had prayed Ire had almost forgotten how. Even now, it was not for himself, but for those whose lives depended - on his itrengb. "O God,” be breathed in anguish, “give me strength that I may do this thing.” With every muscle straining, he tugged and pulled with all his might, while beads of sweat stood out upon hie brow. If only he had had his othe.r arm, it .would have been so easy. He had been noted in his college days for the weights that he could lift. Still, the time that had spent at Orford in training and Mhlcties, now stood him In good stead. On. and on, he worked, seemingly with little headway, and yet the log was morinch by inch. ’A singing noise wan rashing through his head ; tris brain seemed dizzy, and ho

felt faint from lack of food. But he dared not stop to rest. At last some work had been entrusted to his care, and it was up to him to see it through. From the distance came a rumbling noise growing louder every minute. With a start he realised its meaning. The train was drawing nearer, it was on the second bridge. His breath was coming quickly, in short heaving gasps r and his hand and arm were torn and blistered, and blood was running down. Tire rumbling sound was drawing nearer, he could see the engine’s lights shining in the distance. Again he breathed in anguish, “ O God, let my strength last out that I may do it* ” He dared not look towards those eyes of fire. He could hear the snorting breath, as the big iron steed came rushing on. With an almost superhuman effort he tugged and pulled again. He breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving to his God ; his ‘strength had lasted out, and now the line was clear. His brain was reeling from the strain. Now that it was over, reaction had set in. The next moment he had fallen forwards fainting, and lay across the line. , . The passengers aboard the train, wondered why a sudden jolt occurred, and why the train pulled up. The men got out, and went to see the cause, while frightened women put their heads out through the windows. Soon, all was clear, to those who went to see. Fortunately a doctor was amongst the passengers aboard the train, and hurriedly he made an examination, then quietly shook his head. “ He’s dead, poor chap,” he murmured, “ but the only comfort is, that death was instantaneous.” With bared heads the . men stood round, and by flickering lights, took the situation in. For those with seeing eyes, everythin** was clear ; the blood-stained tree trunk, and the man's torn and bleeding arm, told far too plainly of the struggle there had been. “Poor chap I” someone murmured, “and to think he did it with a single arm, and that his left one too !” Many eyes were dim, and voices hushed to whispers. Quietly and reverently they laid him in the van ; and in a little while the train went on again, while all the time the wind kept up the sobbing plaintive cry. For the most part, people talked in whispers, or else sat still in silence. When one has been so near the brink of death it makes one stop and think. And, back there in the van, lying so silently

and still, was the body of the brave courageous man, whose life had been the toll so ungrudgingly paid down, that they might go in safety.