UNWILLING WITNESS.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 7075, 22 February 1893, Page 4

UNWILLING WITNESS.

LITERATURE

.'CONTINUED.) I . _ ' 1 * You repudiate me altogether, now | that lam doing what you wished me ( to do. Ton don’t deny that you do ] wish it?’ i < If it is merely a question of what I or any one elee wishes you to do, yon had better not do it.’ „ , Poor Josephine was insisting all the more strenuously on the dignity of her position, now that she herself bad lost all faith in it; and Bodewin was irritated by this display of rectitude, when he was lunging lor something less comfortless to a man starting on a journey attended by risks known to no one but himself. * Such very abstract views of duty as yours strike me inhuman,’ be said—- ‘ to adore a man’s duty and yet spun, him for doing it.’ * I do not spurn you—neither do I intend to app'aod you.’ * I don’t ask you to; I ask only a kind word of goodbye, and some little recognition of the fact that I am going on your errand. That is very weak of me, perhaps,* * But you are not going on my errand. What right have I to send yon on my errands, or you to go P ’ ‘I might go on your errand without your sending me.* Josephine shook her bead. * How ean you play with a serious decision like this, even for the sake of teasing P’ * Why should it tease you P I should be glad to relieve you from that horror yon seem to have of any complicity in my acts, but I hardly think I should be riding over the range to day if yon had not challenged my right to do as I pleased.’ Since there was no denying that bis motives %vere mixed, Bodewin was resolved to get what comfort he could out of the mixture. He wished Josephine to feel that this act of bis was in some sort a bond between them, and she resisted the acknowledgment he was forcing upon her with maidenly fierceness. She stood up, facing him, obliging him to rise, though He was in no burry to go. He leaned heavily on the balustrade, avoiding her eyes. ‘Don’t go,’ she said more gently; ‘don’t give your testimony from any motive less worthy than the one that made you withhold it.’ ‘Be satisfied,’ he said; ‘1 am doing what is right. I don’t ask myself why I am doing it, and you must not answer me, because I might tell you the truth.’ Ho took off his hat and silently . offered his band. Josephine let him bold hers a moment, and they parted without looking at each other again. At Bodewin was unhitching his horse Mrs Sam mis appeared. . * You’re not going without your coat, Mr Bodewin?’ She came down the steps with it, apologizing for haying kept him waiting so long. ‘ I hope you won’t hays to ride too fast to make vnpthe time-’ Bodewin assured her he bad plenty of time. He rolled up the coat into a snug bundle and tied it securely to the back of his saddle, swung himself oo his horse, and, lifting his hat to Mrs Sammis, rode away. Twilight drew the curtains of sunset in the Talley. Night came on, and the Eagle Bird folded its murky wings in such rest as its ceaseless subterranean life permitted. Josephine sat on the porch steps. At the dump station below the hilt a light had shone since twilight. At intervals she heard the hollow rolling of a car along the tramway. As the sound ceased, a bolt rattled, and the torrsnt of earth and stones era'bed over the dump. ''The car rolled back into the tunnel, and in the succeeding silence the strokes of the engine from the shaft-house counted the hours to the change of shifts. Presently a new sound canght Josephine’s attention—the light, sharp click of a horse’s hoofs comisg rapidly up the hill. She lose it tor an instant, then she heard it again, nearing faster and now close at band. By the main group of buildings it stopped, and voices of men were beard talking. Mrs Sammis came out on the porch, carrying 'Me habyi her apron turned op pver its bars head. She walked passed osephme to the cod ol the porch, and called into the darkness : ‘ Whose horse is that?’ * Is anything the matter P’ Josephine asked. She too went to the end of the porch and looked and listened with Hre Sammis in the contagion of vague alarm. *1 thought that horse coming up just now was the bald faced one Mr Bodewin rode/ Mrs Sammis said. * Has Mr Bodewin come back ? ’ *lt wasn’t Bodewin rode him in. I saw him plain enough coming up the hill. It was that man from Lounsberry’s •tables., I can’t ever think of his name. He brings your father’s horses ’ * But where is Mr Bodewin ? ’ ‘ That’s what I’d like to know, if I could get anything out of them men.’ ’Let me take the baby, Mrs Sammis.’

The sleepy child began to scream when his mother transferred him to Josephine’* arms. She earned him into the bonne and walked up and down the close entry with him, mechanically bashing his cries, while Mrs Ssmmis ran out to the stable to make inquiries. /Oh, baby, baby, do hush!’ Josep-.J-hine almost sobbed herself, trying 1 to listen. ‘ Well,’ said she, they don’t know what's gone of him any tnore’n we do! " That bay bores of his came in alone about seven o’clock, and walked himself io>o the stable where he’s kep’, add tbits all tbey know. They waited till tbs stage got in, but there wno’t

any message from our folks. They j passed out team the other side of the I summit, but they hadn’t seen any sign : of him either side. He hadn’t stopped ' at English George’s, just but at tbs foot of the pass—yea rec’lect, when you come in, that little gulch where the water was, and right smart of grass 7 The woman says she was just takin’ some blackberry pies out of the ovenone of them outdoor ovens; you’ve seen ’em —and he rode up and bought one of the pies, and eat it eit'in’ on his horse, and took a big drink of milk, and gave her a dollar. ’Twasn’t more’n three bits’ worth, They sent np from the stable to know if he changed his horse here this morning before he started. You saw him tie that coat on to his saddle, didn’t you ? ’ * Yes,’ said Josephine. 'Well, they say tha saddle came home bare.’ ‘ Bare P’ * 4 There wasn’t any coat or nothing tied fast to i>.’ ‘ What does that mean P’

‘lt mean# it wasn’t an accident.’ Mrs Sammis lowered her voice to give greater effect to her next words, ‘ They think, down to the camp, it’e some of the Uinta’s work. The horse had been hit by a bullet, and they say the mark of it showed it come from beniod. There is no tailin’/ she continued after a pause, which brought no comment from Josephine. 'Some thinks he’s just been playing into their hands all along.' He give ’em a first rate chance goin’ off like that. Sammis has ’lowed all along that he wa« in with them.’ Josephine rose and went out on the porch. The light at the dump station was eclipsed, and now again came the rattling of the bolt and plunging of the load over the dump. Ii fell into the acheless silence of the wood like s stone into a deep well. So bad the news of the night fallen into Josephine’s heart. She heird Mrs Sammis’s step in the hall, and turned to say : ‘ Will yon tell me as soon as you know anything more—whatever it is? I want to know it.’

* Wby, of course—why shouldn’t you know it ?'

• Wby, indeed, ’ Josephine repeated to herself, should sbe be spared tbe knowledge of Bodewin’a fats ? What was it to her but one more man added to the list of the camp’s missing, or dead, or dishonoured P

(To be continued.)