The Storyteller.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXV, Issue 2051, 30 November 1907, Page 2 (Supplement)

The Storyteller.

A TENDERFOOTS’ WOOING.

14 Y CLIVE FHILLH’i-WOOLLE Y. Author of “Gold, Uo il in Ciuiboo, “Tho Chicamin Stone,” etc. (All rights reserved.)

CUIABTEU MX. •‘What is your programme, Al?” Avhispereil the Bo's when tho rancho lights h ul died out behind the hog s back. “1 was calculating to make for that gulch as leads into Orouio Creek. We could leave our horses there, and do a sneak down it to Khelo wua'« tamp.’’ ••.How do you know he is camped ■there ?” “It’s the nearest water to tho place where Jim saw the smoke, ho might not bo there of course, but it's worth trying. We might get the drop on the whole outfit, if we did a good sneak at night.” “We might, as they won’t dream <k our assuming the offensive, hut it isn't likely. They aren’t white men and the woods talk." "That's so, but if they spot us before we get the drop it's only three to one. They'll tun sure. That is the spirit of the West. Three to one is about a lair mab-ii in the eyes of the western man ,f the one is white, with rather heavy odds on tile one, and history has proved that the handicap is not too heavy in most cases, although some “f,ool white,” as Al would have put it. may sometimes “get left.” The Boss at any rate seemed sal.slied, and the live went on silently in the darkness, which was of the kind which absolutely obliterates every thing. A ohinook wind was blowing, one of those, curiously soft warm winds which occur in 8.C., cnit-ig the snow off ' the hills in a few hours like a red hot knife. By their ears they could tell when they wore riding over prairie, for then there, was only a whisper o-f the grass at their feet, or through timber, for thou the soughing of the trees made weird music for them, but in that solid damp blackness you might have burst your eyeballs in trying to discover the outline of a pine, or tho edge of the timber again at the sky, and your efforts would have been in vain. And yet with thy instinct of a homing pigeon, old A 1 led thcim steadily on, never complaining of the darkness, never hesitating, clashing questions and his companions felt their way after him tiust-ne implicitly to his guidance and to the instinct- of their horses- • ‘-‘Better get off here. Boss,” Ai said at last, “it’s bad going. Hold on to your stirrup leather and let your horse come along after me,” but he himself remained in the saddle. <lt has to-be more than bad going to persuade ail old cow-hoy to foot

“Who’s that blundering idiot?’’’ be hissed a minute later as some one broke .a stick, “can’t you move you t hoof without knocking the trees down. If they ain’t deaf they’d hear that in Sody Creek bar.” Though the old man’s language wias more picturesque than accurate, a good many things seemed to have heard that unlucky stick. Until it broke, but for the solemn soughing of the trees, the dumbness of the woods had matched the darkness cf •the night. You would have thought that woods and prairie were alike tint c mated, bad you no): remembered that all those who move in them by night, are stalking or stalked, seeking the life of another or stolid derail gly. frying to save their o»vn. As the stick cracked, there was a rustling in every bush, a stir in every tree, unseen feet pattered, unseen wings fluttered for a. moment, and then again all was still, —listening.

As the five paused with all their senses on the alert, a tiny bright red star showed for a moment in the gloom ahead of, and above tihe.u.

“Gosh! I didn’t know that we .were that close,” muttered Al. "‘lf that fool hadn’t have touched his fire I’d have blundered right into them. lie low, boys.” For -a quarter of an hour the live men lay motionless, and so still was everything that before the fifteen minutes had passed, the Boss felt convinced that the light which they had seen must have been born of their imagination. It could not be ■that there was any live tiling in such a .silent as that. But A! did not share in this feeling. “It’s a mercy none of tho cay uses whinnied,” he whispered, “but it won’t do to trust them any ’ongciY Let me git past you, Boss. Now fuller me back. Bo easy, and for (tho love of life, don’t break any more trees, Dan,” and so saying be led them back by -tlie way they bad come.

At last lie stopped. There had crept into the sky the faintest suspicion cf light. Black darkne s it would have appeared to most men still, lout to .these whose eyes had become accustomed to the i:',lei dirk, it sufficed to show, a hoi lew land.

“Ye’ll tie Uie horses here, and wait a bit. .When we can p--c-*Ty nigh see our (rights, we J 1 .begin our sneak, .they’re' a .blanked sight nearer than J. thought they Was.” As he spoke liis words were 'us ,; - fied.

Mm black belt of gloom MVeil stirroun(led the hollow in which tu-y lay, was suddenly starred in a Vzoji places by quick red lights of flanwi, and the silence shattered by the ringing reports of as many rifles, after which the darkness came lack again and the silence, but i,.r the screaming of a wounded horse. “Bness they beat us cnfhesne.iK,' muttered old A! coolly. “Get into cover, boys, quick.’’ d’robilily no white man hilt -M coukl have Jed the rancho posso through those wood:, at night as silently as lie had done. They bad stirred no heavy' beast to precede them and carry a warning to the’." foes. There had been no fluttering of disturbed wings in front of their advance, exceirt that once, but a warning need not be printed In large type for an Indian to see it

Ever since Dan “broke that tree’ the stalkers had been stalked without suspecting it. When the volley was fired Dick Holt had hud his eye on the ox a -C spot in which one of the red star, of light hid hurst. iHo had heard the bullet sing past him and for a Inaction of a second had seen tlie prone figure of the man who fired flic shot. But he had not replied to it.

The brilliance of the momentary flash had accentuated the darkness for him, and taken away . from him all idea of locality, so that to have replied would only have been to waste a shot and betray his own hiding-place. He was lying now behind the deni horse wa’iting to snap at tile next star which shouni appear or to meet the rush which might have followed had the attacking party consisted of white men. iHo had no notion how close la.', fellows were. Tie could not hear them, nor see the outline even n the nearest bush. It was still | iteii dark, on the ground. (Suddenly a hind closed round 1-S ankle, and a to’ e whispered. “We've got to wriggle out .. r f his. Don’t lift your head, blit just slew round on your belly and snake it after me. There’s no hurry. I’ll go slow. “But the horses?” asked Bolt. “Yours is dead ain’t it? If they want to shoot the others we can’t stop ’em, blank them. Como,” and Bolt who by this time had his head near old Al’s heels, saw these draw qui.ctly away from him. Imitating his companion R,o!t -I'rjuiimed on his belly through tho bush which closed over him, so that it was only with .the. utmost difficulty and half bv instinct that lie managed to follow Al, of whose tortuous progress he could see but little, even when lie was within aril’s length of him. . tie knew tint lie was going down hill, ami that the ground under him was growing softer and softer, “util at last he. might almost as well have been swimming, but he could see nothing. “We’re all right now,” Al stopped to whisper, just when Bolt was ocginning to wonder whether he would not rather bo allot than go on any further. “We’re in tho calk bottom.” “I ece.l.d have guessed that.” Al give a low cluicklo. “Pretty blanked cold, eh? Well we’ll cure that. We’ve got to move now like two year olds. Are vc-.i ready?” and lie rose to a crouching position. “■Keep, your head low till we re in the timber. Xow come,-and w<-li beat them yet,” and stooping as ho ran the old frontiersman led his companions along the creek bottom under tlio shelter of its-banks,-into tlie heavy pine timber. There they tlir-evv themselves on the e:rdf.ui»l. soaked io the bone and panting heavily.

“What now? Are we goin; to fight them here?” asked Bolt at last, standing up to let some cf the water drain out' of him. “Fight Injins in timber? Not .much. We’ve another five minutes' before they’ll miss us, but the l'ght’s coming. They’re getting impatient. Hear that?” “That,” was another volley poured into the hollow. “Hain’.t missed us yet, anyways. Are you good for another bins.', Boss ?” “If it’s not too far,” Rolfs running clays were over, and lie was a heavy man used to riding. “No it ain’t far,” and the oldman began to run again as if he liad.been five and twenty, Toma and tlie other Indian loping along as easily as wolves, whilst Dan the big-footed, sobbed wearily far behind. At last on the extreme edge of the pine belt, Al paused. ißeyond the timber the open country rolled down towards the Fraser and the dawn had come. “It’s our' only chance and a slim one. It’s goit to be that cherry patch,” Al said, pointing out on to the open. “There ain’t another place in sight as would give us a show,” and he set off running again a.t top speed for a little four-corner-ed patch of wild cherry bush about a thousand yards from tlie timber. It looked about as bad a place tobold against an enemy as you could imagine, lying as it did in a hollow and containing no timber bigenough to serve as a shield against Title bullets, hut there was nothing better in sight and it had just one thing in its favor. For seven or eight hundred yards at least on one side, and for seven or' eight miles on eve.ry other side, there was no cover of any kind larger than tlie thin bushes of sage brush and tho patches of bunch grass. A coyote might havo crawled through unseen. It seemed impossible that anything else should. ■ Realizing that at any moment their enemies might -reach the edge of the timber, Bolt and hi-s coiiupaiiions raced over the space intervening 'between the pines and the cherry bush at headlong speed. When Bolt crashed into the edge of the cherry patch he had not another yard of running power left in him. With a feeling that- lie had not known since lie had won tlie quarter at Rugby he dropped where ho was and lay still. “’Euchred them so far,” panted Al cheerfully, “and now 1 guess we'll take some killing. Out with your jack knives, boys, and I'll show you a trick as I learned of tho Orees,” and lie began to hack down itlie boughs and young trees all round him, building with them a kind of “wicky up” or small circular bothy such as Indians use for hath houses. Over the top of this he threw his blanket, which be had carried strapped on his back until then, and over that he piled loose soil and sods, keening a nervous aye all the time on the edge of the timber.

‘•Ohtick your coa.t over your stick; if you haven’t got a blanket,” In- Id to Holt, “and then fix jit ■this ■ and he went down on his knees and began to scratch with his ■knife like a dog who is going to hilly a Irene.

- All the earth lie took out lie piled upon the blanket, throwing with it moss and leaves and small boughs, until when he had finished with it, it looked like a great ant heap just sufficiently within the cover of the brush to save it from detection.

Thou lie lent Bolt a hand with l.vs inqtuul, ordering tlie boys, to do ihe same; at their respective corners and JfShove: boys,, shove like hell, if you want Ike' ed.t bull beef any unore. They ain’t here yet, but they can’t bo long now.” When men are working for their lives it is marvellous how much can lie done in a minute, and these men, knowing how much depended upon their speed, had their shelters finished, when a. low “hist” from Al sent •them all into- their holes like rabbits into their burrows.

There was no sign ot Indians Mi if. Bolt- could see, but as Al lay motionless, lie imitated'him, and for a lull fifteen minutes, almost held his breath in bis burrow. At- the end of that time lie heard a voice behind him, and turning, saw Al lying at full length in the scrub, calmly whittling a pipefuu of tobacco. “They can’t see mo hero,” hesaicl. “I’m too far back in the -scrub. Have you got- your bury gooil and deep. Keep a whittling of it out so as you can lie low and the bullets ’ll go over you. Savvy ? I’m ngoin ’out now to take a pnssear and see if them fortifications look until nil.” “Don’t be such a fool,” commanded the Boss. ‘“I ain’t no fool, Boss. No Injun ever hit a man at a thousand yards, and I’ve got to know how our little show will strike the gallery. Likewise I’-ni anxious to know if we have « full house,” and so saying he struck a match and wandered out into the open. In the most unconcer’ncd way in the world, the old fellow strolled along straight towards tlie timber, smoking as he went, and looking back occasionally at his handiwork, he weiit unmolested.

Then a shot was fired, the dry earth was kicked up a hundred yards in front of him, and Ids hat fell on the ground whilst his rifle went to his shoulder, and his own shot was echoed by two more from •the cherry patch, under the cover of which tiny volley lie dashed hack to his lair. “All right,” he said, m he crawled under his mound, “the seats is all took and the curtain’s rp. It’s just three hundred yards to where I dropped my Cap, and now I’m gain’ to put in time digging. If I was you I’d do the same. It's goin’ to be safer underground than up in a tree by and bye,” and afcn■that for long time the Boss saw no more of Al. OITAi .ER XX. Tho chinook wi-<1 which had bee/, blowing before midnight, had (Hopped, and 1n the last hours of carkness had been succeeded by a crisp clear air with more thin a ispicicn of frost in it, so that when tho dawn came, it- spread through sides of such rare lucidity as are a ever .seen except in high northern lands." Along the horizon tile light grow gradually until in the east the heavens were of a pale lemon color, so clear, so utterly fine and transparent, -Lliact .11 1 , ■ gloom of tlie r.g:< 1 barrier of pines hurt the live with its contrast of stiff solidity. iEven the'pine belt itself was not quite proof against, the dawn 'l'h-3 to-ps of it were touched with a pale glory, and though the gloom of .th v .black boughs swallowed up the Lignf that struck them, a bole here and •there was ea-ugh t by it and prig'itened with a wash of tenderest go. - en grey. But the prairie -welcomed the I);iwn, which flooded its frost-toucn-ed sage brush, so that it rolled i'l sheets of sparkling silver, from the pines to the cherry patch and aivay beyond as far as the eye could see .towards the still shadowy bed o': the Fraser. The Dawn toad made all tilings plain, had emphasised every outline: the peace of it called attention to every least sound which might break (the holy stillness of the waking day, and yet Bolt, listening •in his burrow, could not hear £*> much as the breaking of « twig, or. see a sign of life in tlie direction from which lie had fled. Most of the events to which wo look forward in life (and probably in dea-tli) either with desire or dread are curiously unlike our forecasts of them. A battle on either a large or a small scale is no exception to this rule. Men laugh in the crisis of a life and death struggle, and in the last South African war a volunteer, told off as one of the escort of a big gun, remembers - only of-Spoon Kop, that it was fought on a “jolly” day, that tlie weather and the smooth grass slopes suggested pink parasols and picnic hampers, that there were funny little balloon-like puffs rising at intervals from the •ridge opiiosite to that on which he lay, that the sun was warm and comforting, and that some confounded fellow woke him up with the too of a service boot, when the battle was over and it was time to take the gun homo. It was with Bolt as it was with that yeoman.

After Alls departure he worke-.l feverishly at the making of his burrow, expecting every moment to-hear ±h e hum of bullets through the scrub over bis head, but no bullets came, amt a.t last- even with liis jack kirlb lie had managed to scrape out a hollow ample, enough to contain his body.

Then he lay in it, and Watched, until the mim.iifes grew into anhour, and the dawn into young day, without any sign of lifo showing itscu upon l‘he landscape, except a coyote, shadowy and utterly noiseless, who cTme stealing down from the hilly, until he was nearly midway between the pines and the cherry patch.

'There lie checked sharply, 3. nose went up and hisbrusli dropped, and wheeling in his tracks, toe went back at- a lope to the nearest rising ground on which he stood awhile reconnoitring.

Something in the country displeased him, for after a prolonged survey he loped back the way he had come.

'The coyote’s behaviour was suggestive of suspicion, hut a little broad-winged lrawk which poised .in the clear .air or swung noiselessly overhead with a keen eye for'mice or beetles, contradicted tlie habitually suspicious vagabond. Holt found it impossible to remain strung up to concert pitch for ever in such an atmosphere of ■peaceful beauty, just as the half alarmed buck does, when pitted against the everlasting patience of his hunter, and was actually dozing when a voice behind him asked : “Have you got your Holland along with you to-day, Boss?”

Holt started, but 'though only half awake, had sens© enough to lie still. “Yes,” he said without turning. - “It’s good for long shooting, ain’t it?” ’“lt’s sighted for five . hundred yards.” ' “I guess that’s good enough. you soo that yallorisih looking hunch of sago brush, the biggest in sight, '■away there to the right? Jest porforafo it, will you ?” lloLt raised his ride, aiid looked questioni.ngly at old Al whose head was now alongside his own. The old man nodded, and Holt, adjusting his sights to the five hundred yards range, cuddled down oh Ills rifle. “High or low?” he asked. “I -guess it’s most solid near tlio bottom,” chuckled Al. Then Holt drew a long breath, for a moment there was absolute silence, and then a. little puff of dust, fifty yards beyond tho sage brush, recorded tho fact that the ‘.foresight had been taken too- full. A few sprigs of the yellow weed fell, but otherwise no sign from tho bush. “Sits stiller nor a fool hen,” counmeu'tcd Al. “Try her lower still, Boss.” ltolt took the same head again, but tliis time lie took it upon the very base of liis target. At his second shot the bush which j lie had watched for an hour became alive. A horrid scream followed tlib impact of liis bullet and in place of! the little •fountain of golden dust, a‘ man’s body sprang high into the air, and then pitched headlong on the near side of tlie busli, writhing and tying itself into knots of agony amongst the branches of tho withered sage brush. ‘ ‘Must be quite a holler there, a’most-as good as this one of yourn. I seed him coming from the time lie started. Holy smoke.” , Al’s ejaculation was the result of a perfect blizzard of bullets which suddenly burst upon the cherry patch, cutting the feeble brvis'h into ribbons and tatters and making the defenders crouoli in their Mrs like frightened rabbits. “Fire a good many shots;for fifteen Injuns,” growled Al. i “Inker fifty. “It’s the hull Gliilcoteh tribe, blank ’em,” and then rising reck-' lessly to his knees he roared “Turn it loose, hoys. Don’t let the beggars get away,” and he emptied the magazine of his repeater with a rapidity which would have done credit to a machine gun. Five minutes earlier the Boss h id tired of watching the motionless sage brush over which the hawk had swung and from which that] coyote had retreated so promptly, and now ■whilst the rifles rattled anfl the smell of powder tainted the ail',, there were a. dozen wild figures dashing from it for the pine belt'Only two of them fell and lone of these got to his feet again and was hauled into cover by his fellows. “Blanked bad sliootin’. Say Boss, that shot of yours turned on the hull blooming orchestra. How’ many ■did you git?” ! “I’m afraid I did not tout'll one of them.” - .1 “.Guess you’re better at hitters. Didn’t you spot any of ’em Sbefore I told you .to shoot at that finish? Lord! I’ve been watching that, fellow over there for nigh on to an hour. It’s lucky as I didn’t wait for him to come in range of illy old shootin’ iron.” “Why, what difference would it have made?” “All tlie difference between living and dying. They’d have rush’ed us in another ten minutes, and shooting as we did, they would have got ■in. 'But I reckon they won’t try that game any more for awhile.” Holt sincerely hoped that : they would not, or that if they did old Al’s eyes would- keep watch) for •them. In his own eyes he had lost all confidence. For a long time silence fell again between the pines and the chbrry trees. There was no sound, hut for the crack of ail occasional twig as one of the defenders moved uneasily ill his narrow shelter: no movement except from that twisted figure by tlie sage brush. _. It was a long time before that be came quite still, and Holt <wr thankful when that time came.* Before the attempted rush ! me sage bush had been equally 'still, and the memory of that fact so! worried Holt that he now began) - to imagine enemies in the most Ridiculous grass patches. iH© was beginning to lose his sense .of proportion, and imagination magnified the most, absurd trifles. ■lt was a relief when a single'shot broke the strain of long waiting. The bullet dropped about a couple of hundred yards from the cherry ■patch and ficochetted through! ihe highest branches of it. There) was a slight pause t aild then a second shot from the same spot in fcue timber, the bullet' dropping this time a hundred yards nearer to Holt’s screen. “Jest so,” muttered Al, who had again crawled to Holt’s side, “and the next will be nearer still, ,'fliey are getting oilr range now. Had ought to have' done, that Hie first go off. I guess there’ll he no room here for two now. Lie low boys,’it’s goin’ to storm a gen,” and ho crawled back to liis own xiosition just as. . it began to .bail bullets. For a good quarter of an liour tho Indians in the timber kept up a steady stream of independent firing, ■as if they would fill up that little hollow with lead or reap the thin cover in it with their concentrated fire, but though their, bullets joint down the standing bush as if it had been slashed, riddled it, aiicl left - in flying tatters, the men underground remained untouched. UN either did they attempt to reply. “Don’t sitir, hoys, and don’t shoot back,” commanded Al. “IVihcn they think they’ve killed every insect' iu this blooming brush patch, they’ll maybe try some other racket. Then we’ll get- our work in.” | (To be Continued.) ! ' i

A DOG’S-EYE view. (By Powell Millington and Canton Moo repack, in tho “Pall Mall Magazine.”), I. My name is Madge; I am a small,« woolly white dog, and, when people are discussing me seriously, am described as a “wire-haired” foxterrier. I was born out here, that is to say in India, and conceited, prize-dogs have sometimes chaffed me because my legs are rather long, s lying that I am “leggy.” I have no recollection of anything till jthe time when ,1 understood the fact that I was Hose Vaughan's dog. Hose 'Vaughan was the name of my mistress, at any rate that is the name sho was generally called. If you are prepared to give up a few amusements, such - as ratting and tho like, and go in for more creature comforts, polite surroundings, and human affection, I must say that you can have a very nice time as a young lady’s pet dog—a much hotter time, in fact, than as a man’s dog. For instance, ladies and dogs both like cushions; and men, as a rule, can’t abide them. I think, too —lat any rate when you have been turned off the sofa—that the train of a lady’s skirt, provided that- it is well lined with flounces, is one of tho best places you can find to lie down upon. Rose’s father did not trouble himself much about me. Hose’s mother and I got on together only fairly well, and were never very cordial. It thus followed that Rose and I were a great deal to each other. Two years passed of this delightful intimacy, without anything • of any importance occurring to 'interrupt it at all seriously.' The only forms of interruption that were of ■any consequence were those in trousers. I did not in those days form a very high opinion of trousers. The trousered people would fondle me and admire me, and feed me with cake, when it seemed as though they thought that Rose expected them to do .so; but it was sometimes a matter of a stealthy, kick and a muttered “Get out, you little brute,” if j. did anything, however innocent, that ivas likely to interrupt Hose at all when one of them was talking to her. But those trousered interruptions to our intercourse were comparatively insignificant for the first two years. After that came the great interruption. It was sometimes in trousers, hut more often in breeches and gaiters. 'lt was always kind to me, hut I did not- like it at first, ■and once I tried putting my' teeth into the gaiters, but they were of leather, and very hard, no that my teeth could not get very far. Ine gaiters used to get on to a pony that used to run alongside Hose’s pony. I, as usual, used to run alongside Hose, too. At first I did not like the arrangement, for they used to go farther and faster than Rose did when alone, so that I used to come home rather overtired. But after a time they changed their plans for some reason, and used to go into very quiet, lonely places in -tlie lun-glo, aiL-d 'u'lien tliey got ±liere used to go very slowly. This suited mo better. ■Hlose ill those days began to behave to me in rather a curious way. Sometimes she seemed to forget ail about me, and ignored me, even when we were alone together, however closely I lay against her feet. But sometimes she would take me 0.11 her knee, and talk to me for a • long time in- a" serious, sad way, that only made me feel shy and uncomfortable. All I could do, of course, was iust occasionaly. to sneeze, and this I used to hope she would "understand was meant for sympathy. I had got to like that- pair of gaiters —(though, when Rose took to behaving so queenly, I could not help thinking that they had something to do with the change; and once, when after a very long and very slow ride I, for the first time in my life, found Hose crying, I felt very angrr with the gaiters." However, they did lio.t-oome the next day, nor the next-, nor yet- the next. All those days Rose was very, sad; and it was not till the day following, when the gaiters at last came as usual, that I saw she suddenly began to look happy again. Just as they came into the room, I caught sight of a new squirrel out in the garden, quite a long way from a tree, and of course had at once to rush off and try to catch it. Of course I did not catch it, but having got nearer to it than I think I had ever got to a squirrel in my whole life before, I stayed barking up at it for some minutes, as it- squeaked at me in an annoying way from its, tree. On my return Hose was sitting ... well, considering the way iu which I have since found that Rose likes 6uch subjects treated, I think I had better not say precisely where it was: I will only remark that, though not of -course .as snug a place as Rose’s own. lap, still, it looked fairly comfortable. IT I certhinly found that for a time I was ignored. But after all there,, was nothing else to do but accept the situation. (Bose had been in the habit of calling the gaiters Captain Pembroke; hut, from .the day when I nearly, caught that squirrel in ihe garden, she changed their name to “Charlie.” Charlie and I by degrees becamo firm friends, and .1 found that, though I was not quite such an important person as I use l to be, yet Hose and he and I ma le quite a happy trio.

At last I felt that- there were great changes in the air. The weather had been getting very warm. This, as I remembered had happened on previous similar occasions, was followed by the appearance of a great many boxes, and at the same time by tho disappearance of a great many of the cushions and rugs on which 1 had been iu the habit of lying. (My previous experience ta-ught me tktait this meant that we were going to leave the house in which wo now lived, and for several days I felt very nervous and unhappy about it, and used to get into everybody’s way on purpose, and sit on one or other of the boxes that had already been packed, just to explain that I did not wish on ai y account to be forgotten and left behind. 'I thought, o-f course, that, as usual, we would be moving to some cool place high up in the l.illa But in this I was quite wrong on this occasion. For though we all, including Charlie, went- away together, and all got into tho railway carriage together, yet Hose’s mother

turned Charlie and mo out again, long before tho train started. While we were in the carriage, Koso hugged me hard a great many times, and I believe she did something cf tho same kind to Charlie too, but . this was while they were together on tlie far side of tho carriage, n'ul while Rioso’s father and mother were very busy loaning out of tho window and talking very loudly to some of our servants. Some time after Charlie and I had been turned out, tho train began to bark very loudly, and then suddenly started off. Charlie and 1 were left together on rho platform. (He turned to me, and patted me, and said: “Well, Madge, we must look after each other till they come back again from England, and that won’t bo till December, and it’s now c.ely April. Dh, lor!” HL From that time onwards it got hotter and hotter. Thoso soft rugs and cushions that I had been used to would have been no longer comfortable to li© upon, and in Charlie’s bungalow, to which Charne now took me back, there were no such tilings. I was now living for tho first time in my life with a man, instead of with a lady, and finding out for the fins* time wli-at the fiat part of Inda is like in the hot part of the year. Charlie was very good to me. He * seemed to understand that I should feel the heat. For instance, he mad© my black servant cut my hair very ■ close all over. You caiinot imagine wlbat a relief it was to find myself ever so much cooler, when I first shook myself after the black man had finished clipping me. Clrarii© was very careful in picking up some of the hair which was cut off,'and I remember his choosing some of the extra soft kind that grew nouind my neck, and putting it into a small flat square paper-bag. He used to fill one of these flat paper bags once a week regularly, with bits of paper on which he had been scratching black marks with a- little stick. I always used to he made to jump up on the table and lie there at his elbow while he scratched those black marks on the paper; andsometimes, when he paused over the scratches, he used to look at me in a most peculiar way. It was tho same way in which he had been used to look at Rose, sometimes, and it always used to make me feel very uncomfortable, though I never know why*. Several long, dreary months passed. It was so hot that I don’tthink ■ I ever kept my tongue in my mouth . , at all, except perhaps in my sleep, when I suppose it kept itself there. I had begnn to think thta it was always going to he very hot and -> very dry, and never to cool again as in tlie old days, when once, after several hot days, during which great clouds of dust had beeai blowing about in a most unpleasant maimer, some rain suddenly came, and for a short time it was almost cool. Then it seemed to get almost as hot as ever, and then it- rained again. And so it went on for a long time. At last,, one early morning, ‘I woke ill? and said to myself, “X)ear me! somethin g reminds meofsomething.” Then I realised that I was feeling ready just a little cold, and that . this was how I used to feel ages and ages ago. From that day onward it got colder and colder. I did not have to lie cn damp stone floors any more, nor drink nearly so much water. I was quite glad again of something warm and soft to lie upon at night, and as my hair grew longer, I was glad my black servant was never told to cut it again. IV. ■lt was soon after this that a strange thing happened. . For months and months I had never seen any ‘ladies. But now, each evening, there used to be more,, ; and more skirts at the places where " Charlie took me. Having for most of my life been a lady’s dog, I was naturally, quite interested at seeing some skirts again, and I used to wander round among them in tho club gardens of an evening, just to see whether by r any chance one or other of them might not belong to Rose. But- I could not find her, though- tlie owners of the skirts were—as I may say lias always been tho case —very attentive -to me, much more attentive, in fact, than I ever really like. One in pariculiar was most attentive. Once, when she was talking to Charlie, she made mo , quite cross by* seizing mo bodily in, her arms, putting mo iu her lap, and trying to kiss me. I could not do anything at the time except wait for the earliest chance of jumping off * ■her lap. I succ-eesed in doing thia fairly soon,, and left some very dirty black, marks from my paws on ner , lap.. I had just before been rushing** ■about some newly watered flower- *■' beds-pas usual, after squirrels—hut this the lady did not seem to realise- .- till she saw tlie Mack marks on her white .dress. When she saw them she did not look as though she loved me quite as much. - - This was the first time I met Miss Webster, which is tlie name by which Charlie called her. It was not a very successful meeting, and- ■ seemed at first to leave a coolness on both sides—-though', as time went on*, Miss. Webster made several further attempts to bo affectionate. But I was always too quick for her. » Cha-rlio and I used generally to like the same people, but I found that, though -I went on disliking Miss Webster as much as ever, he, *• -on the otliea - hand, seemed to get ' to like her more and more, hly dislike of her grew when I found that the more he got to like Miss Webster, tho less he seemed to like me. I seemed to get on his nerves. I came and lay at his feet, with my nose across his shoe, ho would actually kick mo angrily away; and once when, after being kicked, I sat a long way away from him, looking ■up at him and wondering what was the matter, ho swore at me and said, “Don’t look at me eo reproachfully, -you little beast !” V. ’ One evening I wont with him to the club a.t usual, and as usual was left outside to wait for him. -It was ** getting dark when we arrived, and it was now much too cold for the perpendicular people to sit out of doors at night. Charlie seut has trap- home, so that I had not eveii. the i>ony to keep mecompany. Therewere, of course, a few other dogs waiting outside the club for theirmasters, bu.t none that- I knew or. 1 cared about-. So I just sat down.-, and shivered on a stone step—wait—

ing, waiting, waiting. I don’t know how long I waited. All the people seemed to have gone away before I moved, and the lights in the windows wore all put out-. At last I walked round the club and looked at some of the other doors, but there was no sign of Charlie, nor even of anybody else. I stayed some time longer, and then stunted homo by myself. I think I must have taken the wrong road from the start. 1 seemed to have gene a very long way, and was getting very frightened,and was getting very frightened, and had begun to slink along on the very edge of tho road, just from a kind of fear of being seen, when I suddenly hear two mor, talking. “See that tyke there. Bill?” said one. “Aye,” said the other —“Da* i*y little tyke, that: lot’s nab it.” I did not lonow what this meant, but one of them then whistled to me, and as they seemed quite kind, and 1 was very lonely. 1 went tin to them and wagged my tail—a thing that on principle I would never do ,to a stranger in ordinary circumstances,’ however cordially invited.

One of the men took off my collar, and tying some cord round mv ■neck instead, dragged me along by

The men stopped soon under a •lamp-post, and 1 ran* them looking very carefully at the collar. It was a very comfortable collar that Oliai]io had given me shortly after Rose had gone away. “Captain 'Pembroke's tho nyano of the bloke that owns ’er,” said one of the men.

“Well, ’e ain’t one of our Mokes,” suid tl'-e other, “so that’s all right. ’F.re goes,” ho added, as he threw my collar into the ditch.

After we had gone a long way we came close to some long buildings which had lights in them, aaid could also .be seen quite plainly in the light of the moon which had now risen.

The men stopped again, and one said: “P’raps we’d best make a different-looking bitch of ’er afore wo takes ’er in.” “But how?” tho other answered. “Here’s the very ticket,” Paid tho first, as ho took from his p'oeket a pair of the same kind of things as those with which my servant had been used to cut my hair in the hot weather.

My hair, of course, was now quite long again, and the men proceeded to cut it. At last they walked on again, one of them picking me up, putting me under his cout, and hitting me on the head whenever I struggled or made a noise, so that at last I kept quiet. “Halt —who goes there?” someone shouted as we passed. “Friend,” answered botii the men. “Pass, friend; all’s well,” 'said the other voice. We were now quite close to the long buildings which I have mentioned. Outside one of them was a long row of dogs’ houses, with open doors, and with dogs tied up at many of them. The men bied me up at one of the empty ones, and le.i me there. I was very unhappy. The dogs lieffrr bv wanted to talk to ane, and asked me all about mysnlf, bait I would not answer a.-word, and I was glad that they were all tied and so could not get nearer to me. My heart sank when I wondered what life would he like if I had to live it in future among; those dogs 1 After struggling for some time against the, cord that held my neck, I suddenly made a discovery. When those men had tied it round my neck the hair on my neck and head was stSll long, and they had not tightened the cord any more after clipping me, co that the cord was now distinctly,, looser than it had been. In a few seconds, that seemed an writings I 'was free! VI. I ran as fast as I could. I got quickly past the figure that had shouted “Who goes there?” and was in the. open road. Then I lost my way again, and wandered on, tired, soro, hungry, and thirsty. I had gone on and on, hither and thither, when at last I knew whe re I was, and found that I was near my home. ' I ran into the compound and round the bungalow. Yds, jt was our bungalow, Charlie’s and mino. One door of the bungalow was open, and I entered. It was impossible to keep- up these ■recent strained relations any longer, or to W afraid of being" kicked for being in ,the way. I threw my body against the door of Charlie’s sitting-room, and ' burst it open. There sat Charlie in , a long chair, in that black skill* with white riiif ' which lie used to wear in the. evenings whenever lip Was' not welarfcig tho red one, which lie usually puton when be .came back from ittie club. His head was beat, and his hand was shading his eyes from the lamp. 11l a moment I had leapt into his face and trembling all over. He started -and sat upright. For a moment I thought ho was angry,-, and was going to hit me again and drive mo away. But as he gazed at me his face changed; that look came back to it which used to come in the hot weather, when, once a week, I sat oil his. table while he- made tlioso scratches on paper with a little stick. He looked at mo for o long time, and seemed to understand all that had been happening to me. He. looked carefully at the sore place, on my neck, stroked my .irregularly cut hair, and patted me as I trembled and panted. Then, in a voice that-was like Ins old voice, he talked to me for a long, long time. “Oh, Madge,” ho said, “you could not have done me a better Itur.i than you did by losing yourself. It was not until I found you were lost, .that I found that I was losing myself too, and knew what i-b would mean if we both lost your mistress us well.” Then, looking at those sore places on my neck, ho went on : “bo they tried to steal you away anil tie you up, did they? Ah, Madge!—though you would not think it of cueli a rotter as I am—that is what they tried to do to mo too. But you’ve taught mo how to slip the cord, Madge, and I’ll he free too now, suid wo’ll both get safely back to the girl we belong to.” Then lie added: “She, lands in Bombay, Madge, next week, and we’ll both be there to-meet her.” VII. AVo are all three living together again now, Rose, Charlie, and I. 1 have never seen Miss Webster again, except in the distance, nor has Charlie.