THE GIRL FROM MASON CREEK

Rotorua Morning Post, Volume 1, Issue 20, 16 September 1931, Page 5

THE GIRL FROM MASON CREEK

• Walter

Smyth).

I A TALE OF NEW ZEALAND COUNTRY LIFE. 1

(By

| Author of "Bonzer Jones," "Jean of the Tussock Country," etc. | | (Copyright — All Rights Reserved). , S ^IIIIIIIIIIIIIlIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIlll.IHllI,,,... ... lllllliltiin,fiit • , 2

CHAPTER XVIFor some moments Hart's gaze was fixed blankly. He was too occupied to observe or appreciate the wild and rugged grandeur of the country that stretched away before him, His though'ts were again centred upon the strange cireumstances that surrounded "the stranger. The squatter was brought rudely out of his reverie Jby an unusual noise that seemed to come from under his feet. He looked down quickly, but the ground he stood on was solid rock and offered no solution to the conundrum. Away to the left were two walls of rock and between them there was some p'eculiar object that the squatter now noticed for the first time. He straihed his eyes, 'Jbut the distance was too great tp enable him to distinguish what the object wa's. Cautiously he began to descend, careful lest he dislodge stones and b'etray his presence, for he belived that what he had seeii from the peak was part of a crude roof, and a roof might mean that others besides himself were in the vicinity. Hart's movements were slower now. With the utmost stealth he worked his way roupd to what should have heen a natural cutting between the two walls. But as he slowly drew nearer his objective, a grim smile wreathed his mouth. Both ends of the cutting were closed with saplings, while horizontally above were more saplings and sods forming a roof of a rough kind of habitation. Silently Hart crept up to the saplings and peered through a space that gaped between them. A light appear6d to be burning within, but it did not illuminate the interior sufficiently for him to discover wha was iriside.' Once again he smiled. "The stranger's camp," he muttered exultingly. Never for a moment did Hart think that the habitation could be occupied by anyone else, hidden and isolated as it was by frowning towers of rock. Again the squatter began moving stealthily. This time he made his way round the rocks to the other side, and where he guessed the entrance must be. On this occasion luck favoured him, for the door, which was also of sapliiigs, stood slightly ajar. With infinite patience Hart sidled noiselessly up and glanced in. For a moment he nearly allowed astonishment to betray him. He had stumbled on to the "still" where the "moonsine" was made. Once, however, over his first surprise, he strove to identify the shadowy f orm that moved within, but the gloom thwarted his efforts. Then the squatter saw that the individual was slowly going to the far end of the place, which meant that if he had stayed where he was at first, the man must have been 'within a f ew f eet of him now. Two courses were open to the squatter. He could either rush the rude structure and endeavour to capture the "moonshiner," or he could retrace'his steps baclc to the sapling wall. For some moments he frowned in doubt, then reluetantly he decided on' the latter course. It would be better to make sure of the man's identity first, he reflected. The stranger was a man of ingenuity; it was quite possible that he would be able to baffle him if he were foolish enough to rush in. Men who followed the risky calling of illicit distillers are seldom to be caught napping. The squatter reflected on all this as he went back round the rocks. In reality, he suspected some trap ; the whole thing seemed too easy. As Hart again approached the sapling wall he was unlucky enough to slip, and in so doing he dislodged a large stone that went clattering noisily down in the gully. Instantly the light in the place was extinguished. Swiftly now, all caution cast aside, the squatter leapt to the wall and tried desperately to tear down some of the slender trees, but they were too firmly embedded in the stony g-round. Failing in this he thrust the barrel of his rifle in between the stems. "Keep where you are or I'll blow a hole in you!" he ordered curtly. There was no response and no sound came from within. It seemed that the occupant had suddenly left. Had the man gone? Hart asked himself. But something told him that the question was ridiculous; there was no way out but through the door, and this he knew had not been opened. Still, it was useless to fire the rifle when there was no discernible object to aim at. Savage anger swept over the squatter for he realised how helpless he had suddenly become. Then while he fiimed and cursed the door opened and shut. Hart tugged furiously at his rifle, but somehow the barrel did not slip out from between the saplings as easily as it had slipped in. Finally he wrenched it loose and with blazing eyes raced round the rocks with the object of intercepting the stranger. Bitterly the squatter realised that the other had disappeared. As he rounded the rock wall he caught sight of a dark form leaping down the rocks. Instantly he raised the rifle aiid shouted a warning that sounded more like a malediction. The man turned and shook his fist, then he vanished from view. Hart slowly lowered his weapon, an expression of complete amazement on his face, for the man was not the stranger, but short-sighted old Peter Sinclair. • CHAPTER XVII. AWAKENING. In tbe small kitchen of the shack Jess Sinclair went about her work meehanically. Her dark brown eyes were filled with doubt and anxiety, and frequently she went to the tiny window and stared down the flat as though someone she expectd was Iong overdue. It was now close upon midday and shortly, she knew, Happy Thomas would ride in for his lunch, for his traps were set not far distant. Peter, her father, had not been home since ,

•••••in ii Mimi!, the previous afternoon, and it was his prolonged absence that was causing the girl's present concern. Ot late, rumour had been busy conneeting the old rahbiter's name with the mysterious "stiil," which was known to exist somewhere in the hills. But since Peter had not been caught with spirit actually in his possessioix he had not been drawn into the farreaching net of the law. Jess always felt worried when heifather remained away for long periods, but such was the girl's loyalty to her parent she refused to let herself believe him guilty. j3ut though she adopted this attitude, she was wise enough to know that' in reality she was only allowing her sdntiment fre:e rein. Others would not he aetuate'd by the same motive. Let one breath of suspieion show possibility of 'being proved, and the law would swoop down upon the old man. The big clock on the mantel-piece ticked away the minutes, an'd by and by the girl moved tbe s'teamirig saucepans from "the stove aiid set them aside to cooL Then going' to tlie door she again scanned the flat, but there was still no sign of either of the men. Happy she did not wdrry about ; it was her fatrer that caused her to feel alarmed. Where could he be? she kept aslcing herself. Jess allowed her thoughts to wander. She went over the occurrences of the previous night, when the Racing Club's dance'had been held in Te Kauri. She laughed aloud "as she recalled the deceits practised by Funston, the saddler, but she became furiously angry when she thought of the way Happy had been treated. It was only natural in thinking of the dance she should think of Gregory, whom they dubbed the stranger. With a burning blush she remembered that she had called him, to his face, by his Christian name. She speculated on the ' pheno'meno'n that made her cheeks dye red at the recollection. In fhis isolated part of the country it was common practice to use a man's or a woman's first name; then why should it seem peculiar in Gregory's case? The fact that 'the usual was for once unusual caused the girl to ponder deeply. ! She tried time and time again to accurately" gauge her feelings. Did she like him? — did she like him more than she did Hart? She tried to Weigh the problem dispassionately; then with a rush of feeling that almost overwhelmed her, she was forced to admit that she liked him much better. She covered her face with her hands as though to shut out a thousand mocking eyes. The girl re-entered the house, but now she hummed softly to herself and a delicate pink suffused her cheeks. She liffced the lid of a pot and gazed into it mechanically, and when she again turned to look out of the window her eyes were bright like stars. But her gaze was only focussed for an instant on the flat, then the colour fled from her cheeks and the brightness vanished from her eyes. All at once she felt so over come that she was forced to clutch at the rough pine table Tor support. Riding up the track that led to the Rough Block was police trooper Thomson. Long after the trooper had disappeared Jess continued to gaze fearfully at the spot where she had last seen him. Was her father in the Block, and was Thomson aware of it? The thought tortured and made her almost frantic. The girl never stopped to think that a band of desperate men was hidden somewhere in that lone region and that it was more than likely the trooper was seeking them. Jess was not the kind of girl to let fear get her down. After the first shock had subsided she became cairn and collected. She stood at the door and grimly considered how she should act. Somehow she had got to find her father and warn him of the trooper's movements, and so give the old man time to get away. She was familiar with many of the little known paths in the hill country, and it was more than likely that she would be able to outwit Thomson, who would be fairly certain to keep to the main track. She ran into the kitchen, waiting there only long enough to set Happy's midday meal in readiness; then going to the porch she pulled her heavy colonial saddle from its wooden arm, and after securing a bridle she went after her horse. Five minutes later she was cantering down the flat. She did not pause when she came to the track up which Thomson had gone. She merely gave it one quick glance as she spurred past. Not that way, she decided. Once in the hills the policeman would be doubly on the alert, and she was practically certain to f all f oul of him if she f ollowed the same route. It may have been a whim of Fate, call it what you will, but it was peculiar that out of the half-dozen tracks leading into the hill country, Jess should select the one taken only a short while before by Hart and his manager. The girl's face was set grimly as she urged her horse up this stony spur. She had very little idea where she would find her father. ' All she had to go on was the belief that he was somewhere in the Rough Block. Yet, she reflected, if she were unable to locate him it was hardjy likely that the police trooper would be more successful. Her mount frequently stumbled, for she pushed him hard, and a score of times both Jess and her horse seemed on the point of being precipitated into one of the numerous gullies. Sudderify the girl uttered an exelamation of surprise and reined in so abruptly that the hack reared up "and all but went over backwards. She was crossing a small creek and on the spongy ground were hoof marks. Jess did not dismount; she could see" quite plainly from the saddle. If the marks had pointed down the track instead of up, she might have persuaded herself that they had been made by Gregory's hack and pack horse just after the flood incident. A warm colour suffused the girl's cheeks as the stranger came into her thoughts, but she pushed the agitating recollection from her and again studied the impressions on the soft ground.