Luck from the Wilderness.

Kaipara and Waitemata Echo, 3 July 1914, Page 8

Luck from the Wilderness.

3M light of day was ust t]*e highest peaks of the -barren Mountains as a young man °"^ ye an^ twenty and 1' a boy of twelve years of age rode silently

along the rough bush track, which wound in and out among the gum trees. Now and again a light breeze played upon the treetops, which sighed and creaked uneasily, and occasionally the hoot of a night owl could be heard through the gloom; otherwise nature lay wrapped in heavy slumber. The pair jogged rapidly OA^er the ground, the man slightly in advance, the narrow nature of the track not permitting them to ride abreast. Presently the silence was broken by the lad's shrill voice, raised in indignant protest: "Look before ye, laird. Noo, wha' in the name of goodness hae been settin' alicht tae the bush?" The young man thus adjured took in the scene with a rapid glance. ,A sudden turn in the road had brought them face to face with a column of glowing fire, which Anne: forth a glare and heat that was rapidly causing the surroundin.fr herbage to wither, preparatory to catching fire from the. continual shower of sparks gushing forth from the top of a dead tree Near the base of the trunk lav n dark form, one outstretched hand grasping a square black bottle, already cracking from the intense heat. The wind freshened slightly, and the forty feet of living coals cracked ominously while fresh showers of sparks belched forth from the hollow trunk. "Take the horses out of the way." cried the young man. flingefvfctg himself from his saddle and, his reins to the boy. It was but ■he work of a moment to rush forward and lift the prostrate form ; from its terrible position; the next, with a thundering crash, the forest giant fell, carpeting its mother earth with countless jewels of light. • "Hooray," yelled the boy from the distance, where the horses quivered and snorted' with terror "The laird dinna rin sac badly ava," he added in soliloquy; "I eouldna' hae done any better mesel'." But Maegregor was too busy beating out the rapidly-extending fire to take any notice either of the boy or of the blackfellow, who sat on the ground trying to collect his muddled wits. By the time the last spark was extinguished, Sandy (the boy) had brought, the horses round to where the darkey was trying to steady his rebellious knees. He was a fine specimen of the aboriginal — tall, slim, straight as an arrow, and possessing in a marked degree that air t of independent self-respect* so typical of the Australian blackfellow. Who ever saw one of them humble or apologetic even the morning after a heavy spree? Certainly this .fellow wasn't; he looked up roguishly as Maegregor .approached, and the frown on the young man's face gave place to an amused expression as he said, "Trying to cook, yourself, eh, Jimmy ? " i The broad, flat face assumed a \ lachrymose expression as Jimmy, stroking his singed shirt-sleeve, replied in melancholy fashion, "No good for dinner to-day, boss; fire only roastem one side." "Well, next time you light fires on my run I'll skin you alive," said the young man amiably; "now see if you can keep up with the horses, it must be near breakfast time." Urged on by the pangs of hunger, the party rapidly covered the ground, and in a short time emerged on to a clearing, in the centre of which stood Macgregor's homestead. Half-a-dozen dogs rushed madly to meet their master, jumping up round him with hysterical yelps of delight. An old man appeared at the door, stirring a mixture in a saucepan. "Welcome home, laird. I'm right glad to see ye the day," he exclaimed, pulling his scanty fore-. lock. "Weel, laddie, I suppose it's no wantin' yer breakfast ye are?" "Gie us a sup of parritch, clad," coaxed the boy, "afore I tak'the horses round to the byre, or I'll be eatin' the corn mash mesel', and ye ken that wouldna be honest." iHH The father, the son, and the black man went round to the kitchen, and Maegregor stooped and entered the house. Not that he needed to stoop—he had built the

An Australian Story. (By H.W.)

place to suit himself—but a long experience in bumps, had bred in him the habit of always allowing for his uncommon length of limb. He was just broad enough to escape the reproach of lankiness; his complexion, naturally fair, was tanned to a warm nutty brown; hi^ shrewd blue eyes twinkled from beneath eyebrows which had a characteristic twist down; while his nose and the end of .his silky moustaches had as definite an upward tendency. Such was Donald Maegregor, laird of Libbetskiel, county Kirkcudbright, in the year of our Lord 1885, wont to describe himself as the "unluckkst dog in Christendom." His father, an amiable spendthrift, had left him the entailed property of Libbetskiel, with never a cent to keep it up on. Then his uncle, Alexander 'Macmarth, who had made a fortune on the Stock Exchange in Edinburgh, wrote and told him that he might do something for him if he came up to town. Now, Alexander Macmarth was a gentleman with very strong views on some subjects. One, of his articles of belief was that his own judgment was infallible: another that gambling in any form, except in stocks and shares, was utterly unpardonable. Maegregor had never gambled seriously in his life, but he did take a pack of cards to while away the tedium of a long railway journey. As he said himself, it was just his desperate sort of luck that almost the first thing on entering his uncle's office he should fetch out half the pack from his pocket along with some letters. Macmarth was horrified, and not all the assurances of others to the contrary could make him believe that his nephew was other than a confirmed young reprobate.

There was nothing for it but to let Libbetskiel, and go out to the

colonies; so the young man arranged his affairs and started for Sydney with his old shepherd McNab and the boy Sandy. By sheer hard work and careful management Maegregor,-at the end of three years, found himself the possessor of a fair station property which just paid its way, but with no balance at the bank and very little money coming in from the Scotch property, the rates and re-' pairs on which swallowed up nearly the whole of the rent. Little wonder that as he sat at his solitary breakfast, a careworn wrinkle settled on his brow, hardly dispelled as Jimmy's smiling face appeared at the front door. ''Goin' after *brumbies to-day, "Goin' after brumbies to-day, boss?" *Brumbies, a name given to the herds of wild horses to be found in some parts of the colony. Maegregor strode out upon the verandah. "Might as well, I suppose, since Sandy has brought round the horses." "Jimmy says that yon chestnut mare hae a foal, an' that if we eotch the wee thing nae doubt the mither will stop wi' it," burst out the excited Sandy. The fresh horses galloped for a good three miles before drawing rein to ascend more slowly the steep sides of an elevated plateau. Reaching the top, a pleasant sight met their eyes. A herd of a dozen or so wild horses fed upon the scanty herbage: though poorly made beasts as a rule, they were in fair condition, and one or two showed unmistakeable signs of good breeding. Especially noticeable was a beautiful chestnut

./iare, beside whom lay a foul days-old foal, in colouring like his mother. Only for the hundredth part oil a minute did the hunters survey the scene; the next, with wild snorts and a great kicking up of heels, the whole herd started over the plain. On they sped, Jimmy and Sandy Macnab outdoing each other in their straight riding. Exciting was no name for it. The fresh wind blew in their faces, the dew sparkled on the grass, all nature seemed to egg on the hunters and the hunted. Gradually the pace began to tell on the foal, whose lagging feet refused to keep up with the old stagers; the beautiful mare stuck to him gallantly, but at last, when Jimmy, with a wild, whoop of joy, lassoed the little creature round the neck and brought it to the ground, the mother galloped off to a safe distance, where she stood . and watched from afar the fate of her offspring.

They led it about a mile further, to an old deserted stockyard. Here they set to work to strengthen the fencing, and having done so turned the foal inside and sat down to their dinner of damper and salt junk. Several times Jimmy averred that he saw the chestnut in the distance. She had been the object of a good many expeditions, that mare: three times had Maegregor caught her, only to lose her again, for the average, fence presented no sort of an obstacle to this last descendant of the famous Blair Athol.

As Maegregor t~- clean his knife dug it into the ground after dinner, its blade struck on something hard. Idly he turned over the soil, aud brought to light one of those massive gold, horse-shoe pins which lucky diggers so much affect. It was caked with earth, but after a little rubbing the pure metal of which ;t was composed gleamed forth bright and cheery.

. "Oh, but ye're lucky the day, laird," cried Sandy enthusiastically.

"You bin lucky," said Jimmy somewhat enviously.

/'Luca, luca, lucky." chattered the' leather-heads in the tree overhead.

Maegregor felt strangely elated

Their plan for securing the chestnut mare succeeded tc admiration. Jimmy remained camped near the spot, and daily .placed food for the mother inside : the stockyard. Several times he caught a glimpse of her as she leaped lightly over the enclosure Gradually he raised the whole line of fencing, except at the one panel she most affected, and a1 last, one night while she was inside, Maegregor and Sandy and he barred this up \too, and the Blair Athol mare was a prisoner • * • • It was Christmas morning, 1888 and a very hot morning, too Sandy Maenab, now as lanky a youth of fifteen as was ever bred in the colonies, stood panting beside the well-known amateur racehorse Zenobia. The chestnut had improved immensely since taken into bondage; she now stood erect and satin-skinned, a few flecks oi froth the only evidence of her morning gallop. "Yell keep a tight rein on hei the morrow, laird; she well nigh pud the arrums from off me thai last round," puffed the red-faced youth. "Why didna' ye enter Pharoah? He'd show the field his heels." y Never fear, Sandy, Pharoah will have his show soon, and you shall ride him. When the mare's good enough to win, it's no use having two strings," said his master indulgently. Sandy's affection for the colt had begun on their first acquaintance, and increased as time went on. He would pet it, and hang round its neck, and feed it with his own hands with dainties whenever he had an opportunity. Sandy was the only one who coiil

do anything with it. A wilder, more untameable brute Maegregor had never seen, nor anything more magnificent for form and speed. Macnab the elder, whose wanderings in the fields of literature were limited to the Scriptures and the newspapers, christened the stubborn creature Pharoah—in the same way he named the best sheep dog, Dalley, and the blackfellow's miserable mongrel, Lazarus. It ended by Pharoah becoming practically the property of the youthful Alexander, who being the one person who could manage the animal respected himself vastly in consequence. "Let me give the colt a turn round the paddock and race him against Snobby" (the nearest approach Sandy ever made to "yon heathenish name"). "Right you are, young 'un—off with you.' 5 It was a sight to fill lovers of horseflesh with a holy joy—that pair of golden brown horses galloping over the turf. Zenobia seemed scarcely ,to touch the ground, so perfect was her action; she rejoiced in a worthy rival, and did better time with Maegregor's twelve stone on her back than when the boy rode her. Six times round the field was the distance they generally gave them; live times they passed the stable neck and neck, then sat Alexander Macnab down, in his saddle and loosened his reins a littleit was time for Pharoah to ''spread himself.'' Jove, how.the long-legged colt did cover the groir.'d! The. flight of a swallow, the whiz past of an express train, the rush of a waterfall, nothing in this world expresses half, so much the incarnation of speed as does the winner in a good race when he puts on the pace at the finish. * * • Boxing Day was'over, the picnic, races at Buudalong had gone off with great eclat, Zenobia being winner in the tw> chief events in spite of a heavy handicap. The Race Ball was now in full swing. Maegregor was not a. dancing man; he stood on the verandah smoking a choice cigar and enjoying himself very much, so that he was not well pleased when his neighbour, Mrs. Torrington, came out to him saying* "Well, I've unearthed you at last; come and be introduced to my cousin, the belle of the occasion." Maegregor had had so little to do with ladies since he came to the colonies that he was seized with a fit of boyish shyness. . "It's too kind of you,'' he stammered, "but I don't dance, you know " "That's just the beauty of it— neither can she," explained Mrs. Torrington. leading the way to the end of the room. "She's only just recovering f L *om a sprained ankle, and has to sit on a sofa all the evening: besides, she says she used to. know yo.i in Scotland— her name is Dare, Daisy Dare." "Surely not my little sweetheart 'Daithy Dear';" then he stopped and blushed, and the girl before him blushed, too. , "Well," said Mrs. Torrington, laughing, "as you evidently don't remember each other in the least, I had better introduce you again; Miss Dare—Mr. Maegregor. Now, sir, F leave the invalid in your charge—mind you take good care of her;" and Mrs, Torrington, who was dying to dane;, and yet hadn't liked to desert her guest, disappeared with a patiently waiting partner. The ball was crowded, and the dancers pressed somewhat on the sofa, and rested occasionally on Maegregor's toes. The heat was intense, and Daisy looked a little fagged. "Do you think you would catch cold if I wheeled your sofa out on the verandah?" asked Maegregor solicitously ; he didn't like to call her Daisy, and it was too absurd to say Miss Dare. "Oh, I should be so glad, if I'm not too heavy." signed the girl contentedly as she was wheeled to a sheltered corner of the shadowy vine-covered trellis. Maegregor fetched a gipsy table and placed it beside her. "Why, what is that for?" she laughingly demanded., "Supper!" was the laconic reply, and presently he returned laden with a tray full of good things-—champagne cup, jellies, sugary fruits, and whipped cream, and in the centre of all a little glass tray full of sweets. As the young lady who had passed through the school of a London season saw the chocolates, she forgot all her civilisation, and exclaimed with barbaric glee, "Oh, Don, how jolly of you; I've never forgotten how you used to throw me sweets over the wall at school." And then these two launched out on a talk about old times; Don described his station, and Daisy her coming-out ball and presentation at Court. They ate their supper and nibbled the sweets. never noticing the time was passing, till Mrs. Torrington came out with many apologies for her neglect. "But you seemed so cosy I did not like to disturb you," said the j wicked little woman, who, truth

to say, had never remembered their existence till this moment. "Why, is it time to go home?" asked the girl.

"It's half-past two, my dear; and if you want to have any roses in your cheeks for the picnic tomorrow, you have better be wheeled off to bed immediately."

The young people looked at each ether in mutual amazement: the time had passed so quickly.

"Mr. Maegregor has offered to drive me out to the Falls to-mor-row, if you will let. him exchange his dog-cart for your pony carriage," said Daisy, blushing a little.

Mrs. Torrington looked at her keenly. "I oughtn't to let those two fall in love with each other," thought she in her feminine way; "but then they were old friends, and quite" capable of taking care of themselves, or should be by this time." Besides that, she did so adore driving in a stylish dogcart, so she graciously fell in with the proposition; and Donald Maegregor went away with the words, "Till to-morrow!" ringing in his ears, and seeing everywhere

nought but a vision of a slight girlish figure, surmounted by an exquisite little Greek head, red lips, pearly teeth, and sparkling eyes of no particular shade looking out from curling brown lashes tipped with gold.

While Daisy—well, Donald had been her hero since the old school days ■ and she was not disappointed in him now that they met once more. One thing interested Maegregor a good deal: she had Made passing allusions to a funny, crotchety old gentleman named Macmarth, who had. come out on board ship with them, and had taken a great fancy to Daisy herself. Donald wondered a little if it might be his uncle.

Then followed a blissful fortnight; the picnic was followed by a luncheon-party at Maegregor's bachelor quarters, and a drivingparty somewhere else, and so on. And all. this time Maegregor was falling deeper in love with Daisy, and Daisy was not indifferent to the laird. Mrs. Torrington hated having to do unpleasant things, but at last, haunted by a vision of Papa. Dare's face when he heard of such a match, for his Daisy, she summoned up her courage, and the next time Maegregor arrived at Bundslong on some ridiculous pretext, he was shown into the morning-room, where Mrs. Torrington presently joined him. Maegregor never remembered anything very clearly about that conversation. The gist of it was that Daisy was heiress to one hundred thousand pounds, that her father looked very high for a match for his lovely daughter. and that, he (Maegregor) was too poor to think of marrying anyone, much less the rich Miss Dare. The same evening Daisy re ceived letters from her father, desiring her immediate return tj Sydney. They saw each other but once more; and that in the presence of strangers. * * 9 "What colours shall that horse carry that T told yon about, at the Autumn Meeting?" said Maegregor. as softly as he dared. "Pink and green, like my namesake," was the reply. It was just before the big race of the Autumn Meeting at Raudwick. and the ring presented a busy scene. The grinning, dusty bookmakers stood on their boxes roaring out the odds, while their attendant Hebrew brother—Cohen, or Mosos, or Isaac, or whatever his name might be—stood alongside entering the bets. The favourite stood at 4 to 1. and the gentle public struggled for a chance to back him. too. There were a few horses backed for a place at 10 to 4 aud 8 to 5. but the remainder could be had at almost any price. "What price Pharoah?" enquired a young man. "100 to 3." was the answer. "Lay you 500 to 15? Thank you, sir." "I lay the feej-eld!" "Four to one, bar one!" "Four hundred to twelve on Pharoah? Certainly, Mr. Macgre-

gor.' J The king of the ring stepped up to him: "If you want a big. wager, I'll lay you ten thousand to three hundred in one pop," he said. Macgregor took it. He stood to clear sixteen thousand pounds on Pharoah if he won. If he lost, it simply meant living like a Chinaman for the next year or two, unless the dreadful drought which had thwarted his every effort for the last three years should break up. "Who's Pharoah? 7' asked a stranger, studying his book. '' Oh, a regular outsider, nobody ever heard of before,'' was the piyColonel and Miss Dare and Mr. Alexander Macmarth sat ifi the grandstand. Macmarth had been very fidgety all the morning. Ac last he got up, saying that he would go and see what was doing. The fact of the matter was that the -old gentleman, having tasted the excitement,of a gambler's life, now that his failing health compelled him to relinquish his stock exchange career, felt all the emp-

tiness of a tippler deprived of his "little whack" Daisy looked so interested. "Don't you think we might take this young woman with us, Dare?" the old man asked. Daisy looked pleadingly. "Come, then,'' answered the indulgent Colonel; "take my arm, and be'sure and not let it go." They reached the ring. Macmarth was itching to win some money „ He said: "Now, Miss Dare, you must put something on the race." She didn't approve oi betting, but she felt she would like to show her confidence in Donald's horse, so she took a couple of sovereigns from her purse, and, handing them to the old man, said: "Put them on Pharoah," adding rather feebly, "I've taken a fancy to the name." "He's a rank outsider, but I've put a fiver on for myself, because I believe in your luck, Miss Dare," said the elderly plunger Then some friends took them through to the saddling paddock. "That's Pharoah," said Daisy as they entered the enclosure. Sandy in pink and green was mounting for hio first race. "Everything that a horse ought to look," was the verdict of several good judges, as they looked at the magnificent animal. Daisy ran up to the horse as her party turned to go back to the stand. "Good luck to you, Sandy," she said, and as she turned she encountered Pharoah's owner. N Her father was nearly at the gate. "You'll win, Don," was all she had time to say. "We are staying at Petty's," and she was gone. There was- a grand start, but the favourite wa^ "off colour." and his backers ground their teeth as they. saw first one horse and then another riding him down. "For the first mile and a half H seemed difficult, to pick the winner, then people with glasses be<?an to mention "pink and green. No. 22." and people without looked him up in their books. By the time the hordes began to come up the straight there was no longer- any doubt about it. The bio- chestnut was winning easily, and the thunder of voices whicli Greet? the end of a big race, resolved itself into the words: "Pharoah! Pharoah wins! Pharonh's WON!" An hour later the owner of the dark horse, already a celebrity. Avalked rapidly through the crush of people, who stared at and criticised him with much candour. His face was slightly flushed, and he couldn't help looking prosperous: hut otherwise there was no sign of elation about him. Sandy had been sent before, to discover' the location of the Dare's party, and the boy's air of sublime indifference as men told each other "He's Macnab, Pharoah's iocW." was something delightful to behold. Maegregor walked straight to the place, where a girl in a pink dress watched his coming. Old Macmarth had just been prosing over the fact that the lucky horse's owner bore a Scotch name, and had she ever observed

the fact that nearly all tht roecessful men in the colonial hailed from the same place?

Donald came up. "Let me introduce you to my father, Mr. Maegregor," she said sweetly. "Mr. Macmarth, this is the owner of Pharoah."

"My nephew," gasped the old man, lost in amazement. "How do you do, uncle? lam glad to see you out in this country. You must come back with me next week to my station, and if you and your daughter would not mind roughing it in a bachelor's quarters, I could show you something of station life, Colonel Dare." Thus spoke the opulent Maegregor.

"This young man the nephew of Macmarth, the millionaire," thought Colonel Dare. "That alters the face of things considerably." ~ "My nephew a friend of^ie Dares, and evidently so wealthy/ cogitated the stock and share broker; "why, he must have a good deal of my business capacity. I might do worse than leave my money to him; besides. I daresay he could put me up to some good investments in the colonies."

Donald Maegregor and Miss Dare were married not very long after —on one of those sunshiny autumn days Avhich grace the Sydney climate. She was so hannv that her every look and tone betrayed it, while he felt the great, the unspeakable of difficulties vanquished and treasure won.

And now it is Christmas time once more, and to morrow Mr. and Mrs. Donald Mnegre.gor are tn arrive at the statim- Sandy Macnab has been all 7ay long decorating the house: and doorways, verandah posts, picture frames— even the gate riosts—have disappeared beneath glorious masses of the crimson bush blossom*?

"Pink and g-rvm—them's her colours.''he sa.vs .to himself as he surveys this bower of wild flowers. Then he begins on his last and loveliest garland—a huge horseshoe of golden wattle to grace the stall of the famous colt, which to Donald Maegregor brought such "Luck from the Wilderness." .

(The End.^