CHAPTER XVIII.

Rotorua Morning Post, Volume 1, Issue 32, 30 September 1931, Page 5

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE FOREST OF SILENT TREES. For nearly a minute after Hart had trip'ped and fallen, Gregory held Jess tightly in his arms. Then, as thouglv he suddenly remembered, he turned and glanced thoughtfully at the squatter. Observing that the latter showed signs of reurning consciousness, he gently disengaged himself and went over to his late adversary. For some time he silently studied the man, then he looked back at the girl. "See," he said quickly, "you'd best be getting home, while I attend to this chap's hurts." Jess did not move from the spot where she was standing. "But " she began; then.sensing something in the other's manner she broke off, but after a short pause she aslced, "Shall

I see you again?" "Why, of course," the man assured her quickly, but his eyes were not on the girl. Jess moved across to where he was standing, and forced him to look down at her. "You really want to see me again?" she demanded. The grim look in the other's countenance softened. "Why, you just know I do," he returne^ reproachfully. Jess was reassured. She laughed happily and again twined her arms round his neek. "You'll be all right?" she queried, with a douhtful glahce at the squatter. The stranger kissed her gently, but a moment afterwards his voice became hard. "Why not?" he inquired. "Oh, nothing," the girl answered hurriedly. "I just thought perhaps — but, of course, I was wrong!" "Wrong — how?" "Nothing — just nothing," was the evasive response. The next minute Jess was going quickly in the direction of the main track that led down to the river flat where the shack stood, and in her hurry she forgot all about the horse she had left on the other side of the hills. No thought of the police trooper entered the girl's mind now. For the time being she even forgot her father. Her thoughts were all centred upon Gregory. She could still feel his arms about her, and his passionate kisses on her yielding lips. At this moment she cared nothing for the fact that she was entirely ignorant concerning him. Once he had saved her from death; to-day he had probably saved her from something worse. There was no douht in her mind now — she knew that she loved him, and she was sure that he loved her in return. Jess walked fast, her heart singing, and so tumultuous were her thoughts that she was scarcely aware of the direction she was taking. Instinct rather than vision aided her. There was a far-away look ifr the big brown eyes, but at times those eyes would

flame brightly when the picture she conjured up became particularly vivid. In the midst of the. girl's reverie a shot rang out. Instantly her dreams vanished, and she stood listening, but nothing further disturbed the silence. A frown etched a line on the smooth forehead. Who was shooting, she wondered? Both Hart and Gregory had rifles, but then Buck Sawyer had also heen in possession of a weapon when he had passed her going down the other track. Thought of the other track made her remember her horse. She would need to go back for him, she reflected. Then a sudden fear gripped her. What was it Hart had said just before Gregory had come on the scene? Now she remembered. He had told her that Peter manufactured "moonshine" in a remote part of the ranges. She shivered and started to retrace her steps. The girl's thoughts were not pleasant as she ascended the spur. Her rather too vivid imagination pictured her father in gaol, and herself living in isolation somewhere very far from the Mason Creek flat. Jess, however, was young and healthy, and with her fits of depression never lasted long. ' A quarter of an hour later she was still mounting upwards, but now the black sombre thoughts had been driven away, and she lived over again the minutes she had spent with Gregory on top of the ridge. She hummed softly to herself and her eyes were bright like stars. She did not hear the slqw, dragging steps of the man descending the track until he was almost npon her, then it was too late to seek cover. At first she felt a tremor of alarm, but the next moihent she was laughing at her fears. "Gregory," she muttered; "Why, of course, it must be Gregory." She hastened forward to meet him, arms oustretched in welcome. Rounding a bend she came face to face with the man. Gladness faded from her countenance and her arms . dropped limply to her sides. "Hart !" she gasped. The squatter looked at her balefully. His face was white, and the whiteness was all the more pronounced on account of the gaily coloured handkerchief knotted about his head. "Hart!" the girl cried stupidly a second time. Still the man did not speak. He just stood and stared, and slowly there crept into his eyes a cruel, gloating look, and Jess trembled. "Why — why don't you say something, Hart?" she begged. • "When I'm ready," the squatter muttered. "What do you mean?" Jess asked fearfully. Hart laughed mockingly, but he never moved 01* made any attempt to touch her. "Mean?" he repeated. "You'll learn all about that when I'm ready to tell you!" Gradually Jess found her confidence returning, and with it came rising anger. "I won't stay to listen," she said defiantly. Again the man laughed, and the ominous sound made the girl shrink back in fresh alarm. "I guess you'll stay all right!" he returned. "What — what do you mean, Hart?" "Just what I say — you'll stay!" the other snapped. "Because you'll want to see your father remain a free man, I guess." "Remain free . . ." the girl echoed. Then all at once she recalled the allegation he had made earlier in the day regarding Peter and the illieit still. The blood slowly drained from her face and she could only stare dumbly at the man who studied her every emotion with a grim enjoyment. "Ah, you remember?" continued the squatter. "You know I wouldn't lie to you about Peter — I saw him with my own eyes — he may be shortsighted, but he knows how to make 'moonshine'." "You're — you're mjistaken — you must he . . ." Jess gulped chok-

ingly. "Dad never did a wrong thing in his life. Oh, Hart, don't go saying those things about him — please don't! . . A triumphant smile lit up the man's face, but almost instantly his features became distorted with rage. With a savage curse he tore the handkerchief from his head, disclosing an ugly, jagged cut on the side of his head, from which blood slowly oozed. Jess shuddered at the gruesome sight. "This is your friend's work," the squatter snarled. "I'll make him more sick and sorry than he's ever been in his life before I'm through with him! . . ." He broke into a string of invectives, and the girl felt a cold shiver pass down her spine. "I'm sorry you got hurt, Hart !" she stammered weakly. "Sorry!" the other said menacingly. "I'm not hurt half as much as your friend will be — you wait and see!" "What are you going to do?" The question was an apprehensive one. A smouldering fire seemed to burn in the man's sombre eyes; now it all at once flamed up. "Do you know who that damned crook is?" he asked abruptly. The girl shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. "He's the man who held up the pay buggy and got away with the cash!" he informed her gloatingly. Jess felt the hot blood" racing through her veins. "I don't believe it!" she said, with a partial return of her old spirit. "I® tell you it's a positive fact," the other snapped fiercely. "How do you know?" "Damn it, I know, and that's enough !" "Have you told Thomson?" Again the squatter laughed. "Have I told Thomson," he retorted scornfully. "No, I haven't told Thomson, and I don't intend to ! . "Why?" asked the girl weakly. "Because I've something better than that in store for him, and your father will help me unknowingly !" "Father — how?" (To be continued.)