NOVEL

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 358, 19 March 1903, Page 2

NOVEL

CHAPTER HL—(Continued.) The developments in the case of the bushman were such as to occasion grave concern to the inmates of the homestead, and to cause considerable alarm to the master of the house himself. The bast unprofessional attention was bestowed upon the sufferers, but for both cases the advent of the medical gentleman .was eagerly awaited. Dr. Herne at length arrived, and immediately attended to the suffering boy. He set the fractured limb, gave strict instructions aa to his treatment, pronounced him as in no danger, and predicted a speedy recovery. The doctor then proceeded to the case of Sundown BUI, and a few minutes' examination sufficed to show that the condition of the poor bushman was fraught with danger. The loes of blood and shock to the system, which already ha*} been reduced to a state of extreme weakness by physical exhaustion and privation, were greater than the remaining strength could combat. The exp-rienced eye of the doctor quickly observed that the life of the unfortunate bushman waa (lowly ebbing away. The knowledge of this earned John Maclean tx'rente anxiety and anguish; to do him justice, not from any fear of the consequences to himself. He told Dr. Herne to epan no effoit or expense towards alleviating and promoting the recov. ry of the sundowner. But the doctor's beet efforts were ik vain. The bushman was dying. Towards evening be rallied considerably, and to John Maclean this appeared a hopeful tor en, but to the doctor it was the rallying effort predictive of the end. SuEdown Bill motioned with his lips, and the doctor approaching, slowly asked. • How's the little chap, doctor V * He's all right, thanks to you; he's in the next room,' said the doctor, who had had the whole of the facts related to him. •You're D\ Herne,' said BUI 'Yes; you know dip, don't you? but you murt xeep quiet now and not talk.' ' Oh, it don't matter, doctor. It's no go. I've gone on the wallaby track for the last tame. B*y, doctor, could I see tne little chap before I go ?' ©The doctor mtued. It -would be a very unprofessional act to move either of the Boff-rers, but the circumstances were exceptional He coneulted Mr. Maclean, who left the matter entirely to the doctor, his own feeling being to gratify every desire of Snadown Bill The doctor reluctantly decided to remove the sundowner to the adjoining room, and, as gently aa possible, he was carried through and placed upon a couch a few feet distant from Biy. The boy was asleep, but a sad smile crossed the face of the bushman as he saw the pale face of the lad. boon the boy awoke from his fitful slumber. He recognised, with some surprise at first, th 9 form of his friend and involuntarily his left hand was stretched out towards Sundown Bill. Smiles of recognition w-jre mutually flashed from both, and the right hand of the bushman clasped the outstretched hand of the boy. "How are you eoncy—got home all right?' the Sundowner feebly inquired. 'Yes, Bill; your kindness saved me. If it wasn't for you I would have died,' raid the boy. • It was noihing, Boy,* said the bashman. But Jchn Maclean, seated in the shadow, hia face tensely drawn, and mentally suffering the tortures of the accursed thought it a noble deed, and in the absence of that ulterior motive of self-intereß';, which he always looked for in every man's conduct, to him Sandown Bill's act was w.ll nigh incomprehensible. • Father and I will never forget your kindnef b,' said the youth. ' Bat what's the matter with you, Bill?' 1 I've had an accident, K<jy; an '• I'm dead-beat tired with the heat.' • Poor Bill! You've sot that by being kind to me. Hiw did it happen, Bdl ?» 'O', it a : n't much, sonri) ! We can't help accidents' •We'il h%v« good times when we're better, Bid. You'll stay here and won't go on the track no more' Then the doctor intervened, and kindly informed them that further conversation u art be suspended for the present. B jth

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ABBANGEMENT.] Tiie Bushman's Beyenge,

By Salian Muib,

[ALL BIGHTS BESEBVED

Bufferers gradually fell asleep, and tbe doctor, who had arranged to remain for the night, passed from the room. But John Maclean still sat in the shadow. the doctor re-entered. About 8 o'clock Suadown Bill awoke, and the trained eye of the doctor observed that the bushman was slowly sinking, and that his hours,, yea, his minutes, were numbered. The dying man, turning hia eyes to the boy, now also awake, stretched his hand towards him, and in it the lad placed his. •Good-bye, Boy, I'm going,' he sadly said. • Where?* asked the boy. • I'm going out on the track for the last long journey, Roy.' The boy was bewildered. Then the doctor whispered to Boy to be a brave boy, and told him that his friend was dying. With a startled look the boy burst into teare, -and cried' No I No!' ' Yes, Eoj, I've got to go. I'll never Bee the blue sky nor the wattle blossom, nor hear the laughing-jack and the magpies no more. You'll pet better and be master here some day. Think sometimes f poor old Sundown Bill, and don't be too hard on the sundowner who comes your way.' But the eobbing boy could not reply. The doctor was touched by the affecting scene, aad John Maclean, suffering unspeakable agony, sat still in the shadow. Then the dying man said to the doctor, • Where's the boss, doctor ?' John Maclean heard and came forward. •Good-bye, boss,' said the bushman, ' Will you shake hands with the old sundowner ?' Hia vexed spirit at last overwhelmed by the torrent of his feelings, John Maclean, taking the hand of the dying man, wept aloud, and cried vehemently, • Forgive me, forgive me.' 'lt's all right, boss. W've all made mistakes. Snndown Bill's life was a very big one.' ' Forgive me,' reiterated the remorsestricken man. Tne sundowner feebly pressed John Maclean's hand, and in a low tone said • Don't tell the boy.* The dying bushman slowly withdrew his hand from the father and again grasping that of the son, said : 'Good-bye, Boy! Be a good boy. I knew your mother. She once spoke a kind word to me. When you get better you will write a letter to my old mother in the little home in Devon in the old country ? Tve not written her for twelve years now, but I know that every mail she expects a letter, and expects to see myself some day. You'll find the address in her last letter to me. I've carried it in my old pocket-book for last eleven years. Tell her Bill is dead; died thinkirg of her, and say no more. Say nothing of his wasted, useless life. Poor dear mother!' T«e boy Bobbed bitterly, and clung to the hand of his dying friend. Soon Sundown Bill closed his eyeß, and faintly smiling, spoke incoherently of the good shepherds in whose company he imagined he came that morning to point out where the little child lay, and to bring a message of peace and good-will to the master of Kangarilta. A deathly silence then ensued; the irresponsible lips ceased their motion, and the dying man slumbered peacefully for a time. Suddenly his features moved convulsively ; his face finally assuming an expression of mingled fear and despair, and in a piteous pleading voice he exclaimed: 'Dont! don't touch me, boss: I'll go.' Then with a violent start he awoke in bewilderment, and gradually recovering consciousness, he bestowed a grateful smile on the doctor, •and turning his eyes once again to Roy and slowly muttering, • Good-bye, good-bya,' Sundown Bill fell into a calm deep sleep, from which on this > arth he never a^oke. And long after Dr. Herne had pronounced life to be extinct John Maclean sat in the shadow, never uttering a word. Next day the body of Sundown Bill was buried in the little cemetery on the estate, and on the same day, in his capacity as magistrate of the district, John Maclean forwarded a full and true account of the

tragic occurrence to the Government Law Department. The doctor, who acted as coroner for that part of the country, also forwarded his report, referring therein to the admission made in his own. hearing bj the deceased, that hir injuries were received as the result of an aosident The law authorities decided that no further action in the matter was necessary. It was many weeks after the death of Sundown Bill before Boy Maclean was permitted to leave his bed, but the first request he made, upon being able to step ever the threshold, was to visit the grave of Sundown Bill. And great was bis surprise upon reaching the spot, to observe a beautiful granite monument marking the resting place of his friend. r 'Who placed this stone- hereP' he hastily enquired of his father, who had driven him thither. «I placed it there' w&b the quiet reply. And Boy, approaching the obelisk, read:— EBKOTED BY JOHN MACLEAN, to the memory of SUNDOWN BILL. ' Greater love hath no man than this, that he gave his -life, not for his friend, but his enemy.' * • • #- Roy Maclean was intensely pleased with tlii3 mark of respect bestowed on the memory of Sundown Bill; for, during his long illness, he had silently cherished the. idea of requesting his father to erect a tablet to the memory of the departed friond. John Maclean lived for several ytars after the death of Sundown Bill, but from the day of the tragic occur, rence, he was an altered, a remorseful, and it is believed, a better man. It is certain that when a year or two later, a proposal was carried by the Pastoralists assembled, to discourage the visits of tuudowners by refusing to give them food or shelter, John Maclean, to the surprise of all warmly opposed the motion, and voted with the minority. Moreover, and in proof of his eincerity, the homestead of Kangarilla had from th»t fatal day become proverbially known for its hospitality, which was duly taken advantage of and appreciated by all the nomadic fraternity of sundowners Some month<3 after the death of Sundown Bill, the mral postman knocked at the door of a little cottage in a green lane in Devon, end the poor old soul who eagerly grasped the proffered letter with the Australian post-mark, fervently thanked God for his goodness in answering her prajfrs. The letter from ber long lost son had at last arrrived.

Bat her joy was soon turned into sorrow. Her son was dead; died bravely, nobly, the letter informed her. God be praised To her the life that had been ended bravely and nobly, must have been nobly lived. Of that she was fully satisfied. And he had died thinking of her, his mother. Oh, blessed joy; and she wept tears of gratitude to God. The long ~ysars-of a€gl©at-were.jEßtirj9]y_ forgotten. He was to her the child of her heart; her own son, who had lived and died nobly, and whose last thoughts were of her. It was enough; all she wished for now was to revel in the thought of it, and in her strong and simple faith, to prepare for that hour, which must soon corns, when she wcn'd meet her son in spirit, and never part from him again. Bleased faith; glorious hope. The letter proceeded to inform her that her son had bequeathed to her his money, co be paid in the form of an annuity so long as she lived. The bequest was more than sufficient to provide her in comfort throughout her ramaining few years. John Maclean appointed himself testamentary executor, and remitted the first amount. To the aged mother, the legacy was further proof that her son had been an active and prosperous man in a faraway c- untry. But John Maclean is now dead, and Mr. Roy Maclean, M.P. and JP., is master of Kangarilla. Since attaining the age of manhood, Boy had learned the true cause of the sudden and tragic end of Sundown Bill, and in consequ-nce his father's reason's for the erection of such an elaborate and costly monument to the memory of his humble friend. And he walks across to the little graveyard at frequent indefinite int'iv.ls during the year to mark his loving remembrance of his parents and his friends, his little children who accompany him reverently keeping the grass green and in sea 3 n planting snowdrops and daisies on the graves. (The End)