IN THE WILDERNESS.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LIV, Issue 103, 21 October 1911, Page 9

IN THE WILDERNESS.

"Yes" lliiltercd tlic white lips, "I know .11- il liiis been :i plea-ant week."

•'Just one more turn before we go in! This i< inlinitcly better than that study drawing-room!"

Kycs pleaded as well us voice Tlio broad gravelled terrace stretched out invitingly. Overhead the moon swam in u cloudless indigo sky. A light, breeze just stirred the leaves of the elms.

'•Enid, I love you! - ' whispered Dick Ferrers, "i know it's the last word 1 ought to say; but. a man gets desperate at times. I'm desperate now. This is our last night together."

••I'lcasaiit! Sweetheart, it's been the most gloriously happy week I've, ever known"-the week of my life. And now it's over. You know what 1 mean when I say that I've no right to tell you all this? Noii're a rich woman, and I'm poorer than the church mouse of the proverb. They brought me up as heir to a million. I learned to like good clothes, a good dinner, line wines. Then the crash came. Two hundred pounds a year it left me; the rest went to keep the dear old pater's name clean." "I've beard it —all," sighed the girl. "I think it was just splendid, Dick. Grand; Hut why—why should it interfere—now? I've enough for two to " "Ah, don't, Enid—don't!" Hoarsely it broke from him. The grip on her arm tightened. "I've dreamed dreams, too. I've tried to believe them possible. But I can't, and be honest to us both. Marry me now, and people would dub you a fool and me a rogue. Xo! Let's get back to earth! X:ext week I sail for Rhodesia. Out there a man has a chance. Here, minus trade or profession, he's a drug on the market. Will you wish me luck, Enid?"

"Of course I will. All possible luck! And in a year or two, when you've made your fortune " She checked her tongue abruptly. A rush of warm color dyed her cheeks.

"I shall come back to England and find you —waiting!" he breathed, passionately. "Sweetheart, it's all I ask; God bless you for saying it!"

Rhodesia taught Dick Ferrers many things. One of them was the real meaning of the verb to work. Since the day when the Saxon backed .slowly out of dock at Southampton he had known no idle habits. Hood for him that it was so. Constant occupation kept him from brooding over the things of the past.

The face of one woman was ever in his drcam«. Each morning she was his first thought: his last at night. But he knew that the only chance of winning her lay in steadfast application to the thing in hand, and spared himself not at all. The brilliant, sun-bathed days gave him heart. Striding about his farm hj" thanked heaven many a time for the sheer joy of living. And in the main things went well with him. A clean bill of health, operations that prospered, and a rising bank-balance all counted for good. For relaxation he had periodical visits to TJmtali, the nearest town, where he bougie stores and sold his produce, and occasionally a shooting trip. Oases in the desert were the former events. The backwoodsman returned to civilisation for a space. He stayed at an hotel, wore linen collars, and mingled with men of his own stamp. Above all, there was news to be gleaned—news from the old country. Stale news it might be, but inexpressibly precious. "Whitei'toii! You in Rhodesia? Well, this is a surprise. The world's a small place after all." It was in the bar of the Paulington that the never-to-be-forgotten encounter took place. The stranger halted, hesitated, then held out a hand.

"Ye ends!'' he exclaimed. "Yes. it is Dick Ferrers—must be! Sonny, I had to look twice behind that beard before 1 was sure! Shake! 'What are you going to drink?"

"Nothing, if you'll excuse me," said Ferrers, smiling". "The fact is, I'm an oddity out here. I never touch whisky." "No? Well, just as you like," was the answer. "You don't mind if I indulge, 1 suppose? Self-denying ordinances aren't mv strong point!" Bystanders laughed, and Ferrers tried to raise a smile out of politeness. Inwardly he decided that Winterton had not improved. "How's everybody over yonder ?" _ he said, by way of turning the conversation. "I've an unlimited thirst for news. Four years in the wilderness cuts pretty deeplv into a man. you know."

-| should jiiioss it without being told.' drawled Winterton. "I you want my opinion about this particular patch of wilderness, it is that it's the dullest little hole 1 ever .-truck. I'm off back to •!<>- hatmeslmrsr before long. There is some attempt at life there—don't you forget it!"

"Yes." Ferrers shrugged his shoulders. N'ot very dillicult to discern what kind of life Frank Winterton had sought lately. Blotched face and jerky hands told their own tale. After sundown they met again. Winterton was inclined to be confidential, lie was aNo not too sober. "Shav, Ferrers," he grunted, "queer vou an' I sh'd meet out here, ol' chap! Got something here you might like to see. Nice li'le girl, eh? Friend o' yours f'r a time, in a way, eh?" Ilis lamrh was unhealthy—unpleasant to hear, i-'en-ers stemmed the rising tide of irritation and looked at the photograph that was pushed before him. Xext 'second he was on his feet, shaking, white with passion. The face that met his <raze was the face of Enid Shipway. ••Mowrflid you get hold of it?" he snappe;l. harshly. "Speak quickly, or I'll thrash it out of yon. What does it mean ?"

''How'.l T irct it? Shay, Ferrers, what the d-dickens has it <rot to do with you? Thatsh" —he paused, and the second was an a«'e to Ihe shiverer who listened—■•thaNli mv wife! -My wife 1 shaid, didn't I?" '

••It's a lie!'' Ferrers' pent-up passion exploded. "Knid Shipway the wife of—of a man like von? T don't helieve it." -Please v'rself.'' hieeuped the other. shuppose you think " "I think that you are drunk and that you are lviii". Later I shall want an explanation' from you. Ts that plain?" ■•'Quite." Winterton was anjrry now. too.' Then,' was a savajre ring in his voice, lie'seemed to have sobered suddenly. -Do von mind lurnin;,' that pholivraph over. Ferrers, and reading what'is written on the back? Possibly you'll ehan.ue your mind after doinjr Fear biting al his heart. Ferrers complied. -To "dear Frank; with all my love!" he read. And with the words soinethinjr seemed to snap in his brain. \ wave iif a user surged over him. He -.saw red." To hurl himself madly, blindlv at the man who stared cynically across at him was just then the one thins in the world that lie desired to do. "Know the writinu?" came the taunt. •T,ike niiv further evidence, or are you satisfied?" But no reply came. Ferrers had thrown down the photograph, pulled himself to..ether with an ell'ort. ami had gone—■rone lo a solitude thai was filled with bitlernes.s thrice distilled. Enid—his Knid -married lo that man! The thought, was torture. Was woman's nature indeed so li.L'ht. so changeable? What a mad. ipiixotie fool he had been. The pods had offered him the s \f[. lie had "-efused it. She had been his but for his

own pititnl scruples of honor and chivalrv. Now she was Winlcrlon's! Wife of 'Winierlon, the rake, the gambler, the sot! ''T'y heaven, il serves me riglii!" he groaned. Xo sice;) had Dick Ferrers that night. Morning found him haggard of face, harassed in mind, clutching at a resolve few men coulci have made, fewer still have kept. Quixote he would play to the end —for her «iw.

"Winterlou, I have come to apologise to you." ilc had sought till 1 other outbraced himself up to say the things that were, so dillicult to say. "Last night [ used worib tlmt I had no right to use—•'Please y'rself," hicenped the other. I ask you again to forgive me. Out; what I saiii in the heat of passion, and to forgive me for saying it at all. What your intention was in coining to Rhodesia I've no idea. Anyhow. I'm about to make a proposition to you. If I. speak plainly, here we gez into the habit of calling a spade a spade. All this"—he indicated a row of whisky bottles that flanked the bar —"is doing you no good. You're—you're seeing too much 'life.' Will you chuck it, and start afresh with a clean slateV Come and stay at my place-for a few months. Pitch into some real hard work for a month or two, just for the fun of the thing, I can find you a bit of shooting, too, now and again, and be assured of one thing. It will make a better man of you. You owe it to yourself and to—to your wife to make the elfort. It's :ior her sake I'm saying this. She's worth living a decent life for, surely! Take a minute or two to think it over, like a good fellow. . . . Well, what do you say, Winterion?" "Say!" Silence, and then a hand-grip. "Why, just—just this, Ferrers. I'm ashamed of myself!" He swung half round—back again—seemed to be trying to say something else that resolutely refused to come. "Ferrers, I —l'm —yes, I'll accept glamy if you'll have me. Perhaps later on I caa tell you more—yes, later on!" >

He passed a hand across his eyes. The impression Ferrers had was that lie was dazed. Yes, that was it—dazed.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, don't preach, Ferrers! This is a rotten world, and Rhodesia's the rottenest country on the whole face of it! Don't talk any more, there's a good fellow. I wish heartily that I'd never seen this farm. I'm just sick to death of watching mealies grow."

Ferrers' shoulders moved upward. "Better do that than some other things," he rejoined, meaningly. Incidents happened that brought them closer for a space —were bound to happen in the case of two men living in the wilderness, as they did. At breakfast one morning Ferrers saw a sight that un nerved him for a moment. "Hold yourself absolutely still a mo. ment, Winterton!" he thrilled. "Don't move until I say the word!"

His own movements were quiet, but rapid. He poured some milk into a saucer, placed the saucer on the floor, and gently rattled it. A snake that had insinuated itself dangerously near the leg of Wintcrton's trousers turned at the noise. It decided to sample the newer attraction. Seizing a stick, Ferrers broke its back at one blow. "You can move now," he grunted. "Bullv for you," said the other; "f will. That wu's neatly done, Dick. Ugh, the brute!" They .shook hands instinctively. When Winterton was down witli fever, too, it was the older settler who piled blankets on him. dosed him with quinine, and fed him hack to strength and life.

Ferrers' darkest hour came when the man whom lie had done so much to befriend began to slip, despite all warning and all effort, slowly back into the abyss. Tt seemed as if, all at once, he had lost grip on life. Nothing could hold him. Once, twice, half-a-dozen times, he sneaked away from the farm and made for Umtali. returning royally drunk, after a day or two's carouse. And each time in Ferrers' brain surged the temptation—why try to hinder? Why not let him go ■the way that called him? It would be so much easier—would bring so much nearer the inevitable end. And that end might be also a beginning. A whole week, and no sign of Winttrton. Away on the spree again, of course. Nevertheless, it led Ferrers to ponder uneasily. Never before had he been absent for so long a stretch. Something might have happened—an accident. After some cogitation he decided to follow. "Seen my chum the last day or two?" he enquired ol the final acquaintance who happened along in Umtali. A stare—a whistle. Next a jerk of the thumb over the shoulder. "Up there. Painting the place red!" was the caustic comment.

"Thanks. I guessed as much," said Ferrers.

The manager of the Paulinglon greeted him with a sigh of obvious relief. "Take him home, Mr. Ferrers. For goodness' sake take him home! It's little good he'.-, doing me, and himself less. Says he's struck it rich, and this is his final bust-up. It will be. too. if he isn't careful." he added, meaningly.'

'•"What the dickens are" you thinking of, Winterton?" Ferrers said, when at last they were homeward bound. A "scene" in the lintel had fanned his indignation. "Can't you pull yourself together, or won't you? You're simply soaked in bad whisk v. f tell you plainly that this sort of thing can't go on for ever. No man could stum! it, though his constitution were iron. You'll " .

"Oh, sh'rnp, Ferrers," .same the sulky retort. "I'm sick of your sermons. What concern is it of yours, anyway? Mind your own business. You're a fool — a ridie'lous fool, T tell you. Sh'rnp!"

With a grimace Ferrers obeyed. Moral admonition must lind a more opportune season, he decided. They plodded along in silence, and darkness fell before they

reached the farm. Having eaten, the one man got the other to bed. where he was soon snoring heavily. Later, he lay down himself, weary in body and soul, disgusted with the day's work and the world in general.

He rose early always. That morning he was astir unusually soon. An uncanny feeling hung about him -something he could neither define nor shake off. .lumping from the blankets he sluiced in cold water and dressed hastily. Five minutes later he was reading the note that had been left on the table for him. and he knew that the uncanny sensation had reason. Tragedy hung in the air.

"Dear Ferrers,'' ran the scrawl. "I I old you last night you were a fool. That was when I was drunk. This morning, sober, T tell you so again. You're too easily taken in- too .simple. Enid Shipway was never mv wife- never would have been if I know her way of thinking. T lied to you about it, wishing to get even with her for refusing me. Kiddisb, wasn't it? That photograph T bluffed you with was taken -stolen, if vou like—from her room. The 'Frank' it was intended for is, I believe, a girl-cousin of hers: but I took a fancy to it. So much for that! Chuck up your farm and go out twenty-live miles or so north-west. Stake some claims there: it'll pay much better ilian growing mealies. I've seen the gold -tramped over it. Now goodlive, old chap. There's only one way out of this that i can see!" Rushing out into the sunlight, be scanned wildly the stretch of scrub. A man's name came hot from his lungs—-a name repeated often, with a growing note of anxiety. As he rushed forward a sentence ran through his brain like the tinkling burden of a song. "There's only one way out of this that I can see." One wav out! When he reached that

distant corner of the mealic-patch the nature of the way became, only too plain. . . . Ferrers turned away with a shiver. Slowly he went back, to summon the wondering "boys."

Gold! Many men in that country had "struck it rich" in imagination, and died paupers. Dick Ferrers more than half expected Winterton's discovery to turn out some such will-o'-the-wisp. Hut there it was. No shadow of a doubt about it. ijold, even to the amateur eye. Once sure, he wasted no time. To peg out his claims and register them was the first step; next came the finding of a buyer for the property. A purchaser was soon forthcoming. Ferrers managed to extract live thousand pounds in cash, besides an interest in the inevitable company, so the deal was not unsatisfactory. A month later he was in Loudon. "Enid, the widerncss has claimed mi' five years!" he whispered. ''.lt's a queer story, all that's happened there:. Pin not going to tell it now. Some other day, perhaps. Heart of my heart. T love you more than ever; I want you to be my wife, to care of me for the rest of my days. Will you whisper it, sweetheart? Just that one little word to make me happy!" But the whisper was unneeded. The sweet, shining eyes answered him. He knew that out of the widerness he had come into a land that was rich with promise.