THE MERCY OF THE HILLS.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume L, Issue 60, 24 August 1907, Page 4

THE MERCY OF THE HILLS.

A moody look was seated on Ned Bolton's face as his horse gingerly picked' its way along the rough road that led into the ranges. The bridle-reins 'hung loosely, and the animal was making its own pace; its rider to all appearances, oblivious of its existence. Only once, when it stumbled, descending a steep pinch, did Bolton show any signs of animation, and then i was but momentary. He made a quick clutch at the reins, gave the offending beast's head a vicious jerk, and at the same time pounded its lean sides with the heels of bis heavy boots. '■' Git up, you old mule!" he grumbled. "Hanged if you're not gitting like everything else belonging to me—old and worn out." Then he dropped the reins, and relp.psed into his former lethargy. The country through which he was

passing was very rough and barren, though, no doubt, picturesque to the eyes of a stranger; but it held no charms for Bolton. Hills and gullies were jumbled together in as inextricable a tangle as nature ever wrought, their sides swathed in a dense growth of bracken and shrub. The prevailing drabness was interspersed with patches of red and white heath—sure indicators ,of unfruitful soil. Occasionally a halfstarved poddy might lift it 3 head, and stare vacantly after the horseman, before returning to its straggle for a bellyful. There were no other signs of life. Even the birds seemed to avoid these inhospitable places, over which the grim hills brooded eternally.

At last Bolton turned from the track he had been following on to a path leading to the right, and, if anything, wilder and more forbidding that the one he had

left. Two miles further lie came to a clearing, surrounded bya rough log fence. A dilapidated building, little more than a hut, standing a few chains back from the fence, seemed mutely to supplicate pity from the surrounding wilderness. Bolton dismounted, and led his horse through the slip panels, and round to the rear of the dwelling. A hundred yards away a man was busy patching the side of a shed' with some old pieces of boarding. The visitor led his horse across to the scene of operations. The man looked up for an instant, then went on hammering industriously. "Day, Bill," said Bolton, shortly, as he came to a bait beside the bush carpenter. Bill looked lip. Evidently the other's presence did iioVpleaßC lifin. " "Hullo! What bring, you here? Same old cry, I suppose ?" His tone was anything but conciliatory. Bolton frowned.

"Yes. it's the same old cry; and there's got to be a settlement straight away. I simply ain't going to keep the old mail any longer—l can't. Everything's been going wrong lately. Cows dying, kids sick, and interest overdue. What lietwcen one thing and another, I dunno which way to turn. Anyhow, he's your father and you've got the best right to keep him," and Bolton's jaws squared doggedly. Bill's eyes glinted angrily, but his voice was level enough when he answered:

"And you really think that?" he asked slowiy. "You're quite sure you're not forgetting the fact that the old man went to live with you on your invitation? That you knew he had a few years' work still left in him, and a few pounds behind him at the time, did not influence the invitation any, I suppose? You didn't think for an instant that he (and they) might come in useful, eh! No, of course not. Ned Bolton's above I that kind of dirty work, we all know."

Bolfon winced a little beneath the other's sarcasm, but Bill went on unhcedingly: 'Ton know well enough I'd have gladly had the old chap then—he'd lmve been a great help to me; but you and Bess wouldn't hear of such a thing as letting poor father be buried alive in this pinch-gut place of mine, and I, kiwnving Bess had always been his favorite youngster, .let you have your own way. ' Now, when he's worked out, you're trying to foist him on to me, willy-nilly. Y'ou can't come in. I'll see you dainnev first, Mr Bolton! And when you go home you can tell Bess I'm proud of her—almost as proud as I am of you."

Bill concluded with a biting little laugh. Bolton licked his lips, then rubbed the back of his hand across them. "You can leave Bess out," he said with an oath. "She doesn't count. I'm boss over there." "Well, you shouldn't neglect your responsibilities by coming here," said the other pointedly. "I've got neither the time nor the inclination to entertain you." Bolton's jaw moved unsteadly, and he gave a gulp as though swallowing something of a nasty flavor. "Then you won't take him?" lie asked endeavoring to speak steadily. "Not at any price," said Bill, dccidcd-

Bolton stood steadily for some moments, the corners of his mouth twitching disagreeably. "All right," he jerked out at last. "I'll know what to do now. P'raps you'll be sorry before long that you didn't fall in with my ideas." Bill laughed disdainfully.

"your ideas always run in tlic one groove —the groove that leads to lite ultimate benefit of one Bolton. I'm not likely to lie sorry if I baulk you for once." Here Bill took a step nearer. "But if you intend tliat as a threat, I'll caution you to be careful. As 1 said, I won't have father Here for several reasons, but if it ever conies to my ears that you are trying any funny business on the old chap,l might take it into my bead to pay you a visit, and as I can't nirord to lose any time, you'd have to pay me for my trouble. If you wouldn't most likely I'd take it out of your hide," and he held up bis big fist and looked at it in a half-calculating, halfabsent way that was rather irirtating. Bolton muttered something into his beard, as lie gave a tug at the reins 011 his arm. bringing his old horse back from dreamland with a start. '"You can go to "he commenced, as lie prepared to remount "So can you,' 1 interrupted Bill. "The quicker the lietter; and don't forget what I told you."

Bolton pulled his horse around, and began to lumber oil without an answering word. "You ought to fry to get liiin to put in for an old-age pension. No doubt you'll find a few bob a week coming in reg'lar very handy," Bill called after him sarcastically. lie said it lightly, having in his mind the pride he knew engrained in his father's nature, and his aversion to anything tainted with charity. He did not dream that the words would sink info Bolton's mercenary mind, and bear fruit—bitter fruit, lie stood looking after the retreating horse-

man till a twist in the track shut him out.

'A nico brother-in-law, surely! I wonder why Bess contoned on to him? Couldn't have been for his beauty, anyhow." He laughed a lltile at the idea of beauty being connected with Bolton, even in name. "I'm sorry for the old man," ho continued musingly; "but he made Ms own bed and now if he finds it getting a bit Jumpy, I can't help if. Lord l , how Bolton would laugh up his sleeve if I was fool enough to fa* in with his plans. He hasn't got any feelings deeper than his hide—that's why 1 tried to frighten him by promising him a thrashing." He paused, and let his gaze wander round upon the forbiddinglooking hills which hemmed him in, then muttered thoughtfully —"I don't believe he's got (is much mercy in his being as . these griin, old, heart-breaking hills, which have crushed out the best years ■ of my life, and they're flinty enough, i God knows!" i

Old man Norris was seated on some half-rotten planking, down behind the cowbaiis, fighting out his destiny. Ills gnarled hands were tightly clenched about the stout, rough stick, which assisted liini -when hobbling about the place. Tlicre was a strength in his face and a light in his sunken eyes that contrasted grotesquely with his shrunken limbs and attenuated body. His wispy white hair straggled out refractorily from beneath the rim of his shapeless slouch hat, as though seeking the warmth of the morning sun. The sound of same of Bolton's children quarrelling came raeuously to his ears; but he did not heed them—he was accustomed to such sounds. His eyes were fixed on

the adjacent ranges and his lips moved spasmodically. He was talking to him Belf.

"I won't do it! Not for Ned or anybody. I never took a penny in my life but what I earned it, fair and square, and it ain't likely I'm going to do it now—now when it's near closing time, i know I ain't worth much since this rheumatism's come 011 me, but still 1 do what I can, and if I ain't worth my tucker, it's time to put up the shutters straight away." He stopped, still keeping his eyes fixed intently on the hills. Presently ha started off again; "Bess alius was a good girl, and she does what "she can, '1 know, but then she's frightened of him—everybody what knows him is, it seems to me. But I ain't frightened of you, Ned Bolton, old as I am, and you're not going to bully me into applying for an old-age pension. I'll starve first.

. 1 lev took his eyes from the hills, his hands closed more tightly about his stick, and he jabbed its point into the yielding earth viciously. There was a silence, and when he spoke again there was the slightest quaver in his hitherto strong voice.

"If I don't do what he wants, it's plain I ain't wanted hero any longer. Even Bess can't hide that from nie, although I know she tries to. I reckon it's a bit late in life to talk about making a shift, but Jim Norris ain't the sort of man to hang on anywhere when they're doing their best to shove him off. No, I ain't built on them lines, thank God!" Again his eyes wandered to the hills. "I'll go over to Bill. Bill alius was a kind-hearted lad, though he lias his faults, I know; and he'd never want his old man to take an old-age pension? anyway. Yes, I'll go out into the ranges to Bill, and bury meself me shame among the hills, for everyone seems to think it is a shame for a man to be old and crippled up, and next to useless. I won't tell any of 'em about it —not even Bess. But the first day this rheumatism gives me a holiday, I'll tackle it, and I'll show 'em I'm good j [enough for a five-mile tramp yet, any- 1 how."

His lips, compressed tightly, and his [solve glowed in his eyes. Slowly, with j the assistance of his stick, lie rose from his seat, and haltingly and laboriously made his way towards the house. ' A few days later old mail Norris was toiling painfully along the same rough track which Ned Bolton had traversed some weeks previously. For some hours he had been plodding determinedly along, resting now and then by the wayside, as his breath grew scanty, then resinning the struggle tenaciously. During the last hour his stoppages "had become more frequent, for the strain was beginning to tell. Besides the further he progressed the rougher grew the track. It had been a bright morning -aJicu. lie »ltui«l out" but now a sombre change was spreading over the rugged landscape. A grey mist came to meet him, sweeping over the hills and gullies,' changing their hard grim lines into indistinct blotches. It swirled in about the wayfarer quite suddenly, striking chilly to the ve'ry marrow, and pressing a vague loneliness upon him that he had not felt before. He shivered as he got up from flie log 011 which he was sitting and pushed on once more.

"It's coining on thicker," he muttered. "I believe we're in for some dirty weather. I must be near the turn-off now, surely, I've been walking a tcr'ble time, it seems to me."

He peered'anxiously to the side of the track as he limped along, and as a narrow branching path came into view he gave a sigh of relief. "Another couple o' miles and I'll "be at Bill's. Guess 'he'll get a Bit of a surprise when he sees me." - 1

He laughed a little, as though the thought pleased him, and set out on tho new track with fresh vigor. But his pace soon slackened again, 11s the fog came floating about him yet more thickly. It became so dense at last that he could scarcely discern the path at his feet. It threw clinging arms around him, as if trying to hold him back from his goal. It clogged his feet until with every step he seemed to lift a leaden weight. It got down his throat and tried to choke him, and he felt, its dank fingers closing ahout his heart and pressing on his brain. He brushed his hand feebly across his eyes, as though it were they that were in fault, and staggered on. He must get to Bill's place—to Bill, who would be glad to see him. That was his one thought just then. His foot cauglit 011 a trailing creeper, and he pitched forward and fell heavily, Ills stick flying off at a tangent. For a minute he lay there, almost stunned, gasping pitcously. At last he made an. effort to rise, only to fall back with a groan. He must regain his stick—he could not rise without its help. He dragged himself this way and that over the wet ground until he found it. Even then it was some time before he managed to get on hi 3 feet again. He looked about him in a bewildered fashion,

l;ikp |one : just awakened from sleep. Where was the path? 1 All, yes, he re- | meinbered. Of course, it lay a few j yards to the right. He turned and i walked in that direction, then stopped, i and stood with one hand groping among his straggling beard—helplessly. "Not lost," he mumbled, as he pulled his coat more tightly about him. "No, not lost. It can't be far away." He peered into the pall about him as though by sheer intensity of gaze lie would cut a path through its murk, biit it remained impenetrable and unyielding. At last lie made another effort. He was beginning to grow fretful. "I can't go on much farth'-r," he grumbled peevishly. "I can't. V.'hy couldn't this cursed mist have kept away for an hour or two longer?" He came to a fallen tree, and sank wearily upon it. Tt was wet and cold, but so was he—cold as the charity he hated. 111 a dim way, with half-closed eyes, he went over the biiffetings of the last few hours. "I've made a tight for it, anyhow. I'd like to have seen Bill, but "

His eyes lit up, and his waning senses seemed to rally themselves. He made a funnel with his hands, and shouted: "Bill, hay, Bill; help!" His voice rose feebly, and hung in the mist just above his head. He listened eagerly for an answer, but there was none. Even the hills refused to send back an echo.

He gave a last look at the grey shroud about him, and then his head sank on his breast, and he went off into a half stupor. Gradually he slipped from the log and fell to the ground. The shock of the contact partly roused him for ho opened his eyes, and said drowsily: "Lord! but it's cold to-niglit, Bess. T'lll thinking there'll be a mighty heavy frost, girl." lie then turned over towards the fallen tree, as if seeking Wimntli fi-om its hard and dripping trunk.

Later on the wind came lip, and tore the mist asunder, letting the moon and fitnrs peep in at what lay by the decaying log on tiie hillside. The light from the moon fell oiftlie big hills, too, eliminating ali their grimness and softening their shaggy sides, until they seemed to draw nearer about the sleeper like a band of giant, protectors.—C. C. Ilutbusli, in the Australasian.