Please wait. Contacting image service... loading
Hide article pages Show article pages
  1. Page 8
    Page 8 thumbnail
  2. Page 9
    Page 9 thumbnail
  3. Page 10
    Page 10 thumbnail
  4. Page 13
    Page 13 thumbnail

Article text

On this Page 8
One of the Best.
By EDWARD COULTER.
I'l liis .story was awarded th«; first prize of Hi in the "Western .Mail" Christmas
st «irv com pet it ion.
THE young, strong-lookinij; juan, in
nmg!) miner's garb, bent over a
nuki uiiup stretcher. His rug-
gedly handsome face wore* ¡ni expression
el' anxious sympathy as he looked down
on tin» preist rato ligure, and lie spoke
:IIIIK;S( 1 enderly.
"How are yo» feeling now, Tom?"
The reply eame slowly ; it was uttered
with apparent effort. "Pretty bad.
thanks."
A low moan escaped his lips as he once
more closed his eyes against the cruel
glare of the sun on the flimsy wall beside
which he lay.
Bending closer, and lowering his voice
u little, tlie young man put another
question. "Feel any easier at all?"
"Not just yet. old man," his mate re-
plied. He spoke without opening his
eyes. A niomeiit later he looked up
into his mate's serious face, and said,
with a half-apologetic little laugh, "I'm
afraid I've boon a bit seedy. Sorry to
be such a bother. Dick." He paused a
moment, and then added. "By jove,
Dick, you've stuck to me great ! You're
a -real Briton !"
Again bis eyes flickered weariedly.
"That's ail right. Tom," Dick answer-
ed, hurriedly. "Don't say anything
none Help
none Help
about that. You'll do as much for inc
some of these days."
A faint smile, accompanied by a feeble
shake of the head, was the only reply.
Dick was left in siler.ee again to his
nursing.
The two men were in a little hessian
camp on a way-back goldfield of West-
ern Australia. The field was known-by
the few who knew «f it at all-as Streaky
Cam]). Two days ago Tom had com-
plained that he was "feeling a bit off
colour," and. before the day was out.
he had to stop work. During the night
ho had grown rapidly worse and sine:
then he had had to keep to his bed. To-
day as Dick Morris sat watching Iiis
mate, lie ki:ew that typhoid had laid
its malignant hand upon bini. The
knowledge, as it grew upon Dick, filled
him with alarm and dread.
Outside it was a scorching October
day. a id Streaky Camp was just begin-
ning to be turned into a place of tor-
ment by the Lord of Summer. Like a
conqueror i:i his might, the sun had
gone forth, and, with power she was
helpless to resist beat the earth to
submission. To-day. as far as one could
see lroni Streaky Camp, his conquest
was complete and final The earth lay
blistering and desolate beneath her re-
lentless conqueror : an oppressive, heat
Iaden wind belched itself, in fitful gusts,
across the glaring plain. It was a bad
day foi- a. sick man.
St n'a ky Camp was an exceedingly bad
place. The paying claims in Streaky
woie not numerous. In consequence,
the community was »ot a large one. Nor
was it eminently select. Streaky boast-
ed little about respectability-and cared
less. Though small, the camp contain-
ed a bigger percentage of thorough-going
blackguards than many larger coinniuni.
ties could hold, unconfined, with any de-
gree of comfort. Tho Police Depart-
ment had not, yet. officially discovered
Streaky Camp. When this important
discovery was made, the department
gave Streaky a fairly lively time, and
vice versa. So far, Streaky had little
lo boast of in the way of Jaw anti order.
On occasions-not as rare as tbey might
have bee:i --either of these much-vaunt-
ed ingredients of society would have been
somewhat difficult to find. Morality
and temperance were almost unknown
quantit ies in Streaky-only irrepressible
optimism could let that "almost" pass
undeleted !
No: no one evrr argued that Streaky
( amp was not a tough corner. lt was
generally felt, by those who were in a
position to know, that Streaky stood to
gain little by the discussion of the ques-
tion. Besides, Streaky saw no reason
to dispute the point. Streaky was ra-
ther proud of its reputation. But. in
spite of-or because of-its proud repu-
tation. Streaky was a bad place for a
sick man. When a man took bad in
Streaky, the odds were heavily agai .st
him.
With the prosperous exception of the
. shanty"-where murderous liquid re
freshmeits were dispensed at scarcely
less criminal prices-the Camp boasted
no.ie of the luxuries of civilisation. In
those days there was not a hospital with-
in two hundred odd miles. The nearest
doctor was ti good forty-three miles
across villainous country. Then lie was
rarely .?ver at Iionie. His practice iiad
no limits. Or. if it liad any. Dr. Treas
didn't lc.low where they were, which
brought it to about the same thing. A
Dick stood gazing into his mate's fever
flushed face, these thoughts were haras-
sing him. The longer he pondered o»-er
the difficulties of the s.tuation. the more
serious did they become.
Sii:ce Tom Simpson had fallen sick.,
the citizens of Streaky Camp had left
him and his mate severely alone. From
them Dick had already learned to ex-
pect no assistance. Streaky** heart,
like its conscience, was not remarkably
tender. Like many of their kind, they
had been ready to drink and shout with
them in their palmy days : but. when
disaster came they had proceeded
straightway to make themselves scare?.
Alone and unassisted. Dick had wait-
ed night and day. on his comrade. For
about ten months past Tom and Dick
had bee;i working together in a joint1
claim. They had done extremely well,
and in spite of the hard living that was
cnaracterist.c of Streaky, they h:;d ma-
naged to save a considerable amount.
Time had e'eepened their partnership
into a warm and cordial friendship,
which, it is needless to say. is not in-
variably the case. .
Tn his rough, inexperienced way.
Dick was now doing all he knew to pull
Tom round. But his knowledge of ty-
phoid treatment was cruelly limited.
For some years now he had been knock-
ing about the fields, but never before
liad he had to try his hand at nursing.
Consequently, he was able to do little
for his mate : worse still, he was never
quite sure of the wisdom of the little
he did.
What was lie to do? How was he
to get assistance? These were the
questions that made Dick's face so
serious. fie knew it was impassible
for him to go after the doctor himself:
there was no one in tho Camp with whom
he could leave his mate. He knew of
no one either who would be likely to
make the trip for him. except, perhaps,
Sammy Griggs, «ho might bc pei suuded
to go. But lu1 know thilt Sammy was
not a very reliable man lie had lived
on whisky too long. Dick was wonder-
ing if he could trust Griggs. Of course,
oven if he went at once the chuncos
wore strongly against Dr. Treas getting
over in time to do a.iy good. Still, it
was better than doing nothing. So be
maje up lu's mind to try Sammy.
Suddenly Dick's reflections were rude.
ly interrupted. -\ rough voice called
iront the door, "'Yere "ere. Dicky"
Dick looked sharply round. He was
surprised to see the u comely face of
Pug Joyce, the "shanty" keeper, looking
into the room.
Seeing Dick's surprise, Joye indulged
in an unpleasant guffaw. "Dyer think
it was a bloomin' ghost 'olleriii' r"' he ask-
ed, sweetly, as Dick caine to the door
to meet him.
"Oh. no ;I didn't expect anyone, that's
all." Dick's answer was not over cor-
dial, lie liad guessed why Joyce had
come for he knew he thought he was
something of a doctor.
Pug Joyce, a villainous-looking gent le
iiuui. who held his licence and appeared
in law courts as Samuel MacNaughton
Joyce, was tile only resident of the
Camp who pretended to any medical
skill. When he was not present, some
of his detractors were in the habit of
referring to Mr. Joyce's .excursions into
medicine in rather discourteous terms.
This may have been the outcome cf
envy: also, the excessive charges on li-
quid refreshment in Streaky may have
made some only too ready to cast asper-
sions on tlie sole vendor thereof. But,
undeterred by carping critics. Mr. Joyce
went serenely along the path of duty,
ile was inclined to think that Streaky
was fortunate in having such a citizen.
Streaky, on the other hand, did not al-
ways feel quite so sure about the matter.
Mr. Joyce's almost invariable -ecom
j ne.'.dation.af ter examining anyone wi ose
cast- he was taking in hand, was to the
effect that a "drop of whisky" would
prove beneficial. Whisky stood high in
Air. Joyce's estimation. A little more
variety in his prescriptions would pro-
bably hs vc added to Mr, Joyce's refuta-
tion as a man of medicine: but really,
patients had no reasonable cause for
complaint. Mr. Joyce did not use the
word ''drop'' in a strictly literal sense
it generally meant, at least, half a pan
nikiiifui. Mr. Joyce liked to humour
his patients as much as possible. Be-
sides. Mr. Joyce was the sole verdor of
whisky in Streaky Camp. It was true
that a great ninny of Mr. Joyce's cai'e
f«!ly watched patients had unfortunate-
ly died. But. argued Mr. Joyce's
friends. eve:i the best doctors can't
save all their patients. The very
choicest of Mr. Joyce's circle were cf
opinion that a man whose complaint was
beyond th:j remediad powers of their
trie.ni's favourite medicine, had some-
thing very serious the matter with him,
a id could hardiv expect a better fate.
Mr. Joyce was wont to declare loudly
to his assembled host of friends that he
did his best for them all. And we all
kaow that no man can do more.
Mr. Joyce, like the rest of us. had his
enemies. Some of these enemies went
so far as lo say. maliciously that Mr.
.Joyce's liest wa* not too good. Al^o,
collie ol' tho baser spirits ¡nno;ig them
darkly hinted thal, when he poked him-
self into sick men's camps. .Vr. Joyce
had some dirty game in hand. But
then everybody knows that eiiem.es are
i.ever magnanimous in their criticisms.
Dick Morris did not happen to be one
ol Mr. Joyce's ardent admirers. He
had not much faith in the man--none
whatever in his doctoring. Dick was not
over-pleased to soe him. He was 1111
e?rta.n about the man's object in coming.
Mr. Joyce did not look much like a
guileless philanthropist. Joyce, how-
ever, did not pretend to notice his cool-
ness. Stepping into the room, he
nodded in the direction of the stretcher.
"'Ow's 'er1" he asked, bluntly.
"Dad. I'm afraid it's typhoid."
Hy this tans Joyce was by the side of
the stretcher. Tom's eyes wore closed,
n.d he was breathing heavily. He did
i ot seem to have noticed Joyce's arrival.
J «ye« looked at him critically for a mo-
ment.
"'Ow's his pulse?"
He mit back the covering, and took
Tom's wrist. Dick noticed that he cast
a furtive glance round the room as he
spoke. Mr. Joyce as a doctor, was not
making a very good impression.
At that moment Dick had another vi-
sitor. Someone outside called him. Re-
lucía t to leave Joyce alone in the room,
Dick wailed till he was called again.
On the second call he went to the door
and looked out.
Hill Kay, ono of tho men of the Camp,
\\<is standing a few paces from the door.
Dick noticed ho had a dish in his hand,
it flashed across his mind that Streaky
was beginning to cultivate an interest
in Tom.
"Moriiin'. Dick. How's Tom?" asked
Kay. without coming any nearer to the
door.
"No e too well, thanks. lie had a
bad night," Dick answered from where
he stood.
"Me and me mate, heard 'e was bad,
and we mixed up a few things for 'un."
With that he put the dish down.
As he came no nearer the door. Dick
had to go out to him. He looked quick-
ly over his shoulder before stepping out.
Joyce was sta iding whore he had left
him.
"It's very good of you fellows. Bill."
Dick said, as he took up the dish, which
contained a custard and a couple of jel-
lies. 'Thanks. They look very nice;
I'm sure Tom'll like 'em. I'm not much
of a dabster at this sort of thing my-
self. \Vo:.'t you come in ?"
"Not just row thanks.'" Then Kay
lowered his voice, "Old Pug's there, ain't
' ^ c"
e r
Dick nodded.
i'm dodging 'im. lie's got 'is knife
into nie."
Dick afterwards remembered that, ir»
spite of his eagerness to avoid Jjyce,
Kay seemed to be in no particular hurry,
lie sitood a moment or two longer before
he said. "Well. I'll get. So long. Dick."
"So lo ig. Bill, and thanks for the
things."
"That's all right," he said, as he slow-
ly turned to go. 'if there's anything
we cun do. yer know where we are."
"Thanks Bill : it's very good of you.
Good day." Dick turned quickly to the
door : he was congratulating himself
that his visitor had not kept him long
from Joyce.
At the door he met Joyce coining out .
"Were the dickens d'yer get to ? I
thought yer muster sneaked from this
camp." said Joyce, in his soothing way,
as he passed out.
This made Dick feel savage.
"I was called out," he said, hotly.
''Didn't you hoar someone call?"
But Joyce did not heed the question.
"Tom's not too good, any 'ow.'' he pur-
sued. "Never opened his bloomin' 'ead
all tho iimc. Seems a bit silly-like.
He'll want lookin' after. I'll bring yer
some stuff."
"Thank you," said Dick, a little more
graciously. Then he added, "I'm going
to send for Treas." But Joyce did not
appear to be listening.
"G'-day. Dick."
Joyce strode off. For a moment Dick
stood watching his retreating figure. He
was wondering what Joyce was really up
to. Something in the man's manner
made him have doubts about his in-
terest in Tom.
As he stood thinking the matter over,
Dick was startled to hoar Toni cabing
him. Tliere was a sharp, eager ring in
his mate's voice that made Dick's heart
lieut fast. Quickly entering the room,
he saw Toni sitting up on his stretcher,
looking wildly about him.
''What's the matter. Toni?" he asked,
anxiously.
'Has he gone?"' Tom asked the ques-
tion excitedly.
"Yes Who?" answered Dick, incon-
sequentially.
"Joyce' Dick, he's a rogue' Don't
let him come in here again." He spoke
eagerly. "He's up to no good. As
soon'syou went out he dropped my hand.
Put his hand under my pillow-pretend-
ed to lift nie a bit. He thought Ï was
asleep-but I saw what he was doing.

31 le's after our 6tuff ! He knows where
it is now. He went over to your bed.
You'll want to watch him. Dick !"

"The villain !" exclaimed Dick, who
bad been listening eagerly. Then he
added quickly, in quiet tones, "Now lie
down, old man. Don't worry about this
We'll keep a sharp eye on Joyce for the

f utrre."

none Help

HARNESSING THE PLOUGH TEAM

none Help

REAPERS AND BINDERS AT WORK.

With a sigh, Tom lay back quietly on
his pillow.

"What's that stuff of ours worth,
Dick?"

He referred to the savings from their
claim, which lay in a bag under Dick's
pillow

"A little over five hundred, I reckon.
But don't worry about it, old chap. I'll
^ee it doesn't stay under there any long-
er. Old Pug won't see it again, if I
can stop him. Bill Kay brought some

none Help

GATHERING THE SH KA YES.

none Help

LOADING HAT.

things for you-that's why I went out.
This jelly looks good-you'd better try a
little. I didn't know Bill went in for
this sort of thing. Jolly good of him,
though; isn't it?"

An hour or two later Dick was getting
Bill Kay's dish ready to return, when
he saw something which considerably
surprised him. On the bottom of the
dish-a tin one-in stencilled black paint
were the letters "S.M.J."-Joyce's ini-
tials- What was Kay doing with Joyce's

dish? It certainly was Joyce's ; every-
thing at the "shanty" bore these ini-
tials. Was Kay in Joyce's little plot?
Perhaps this was the explanation of
Kay's suddenly developed benevolence.
Dick began to suspect Kay had come to
get him out of Joyce's way.

Soon after making this discovery. Dick
dug a hole in the centre of the camp

floor. Into this he put the bag of gold
he had formerly kept under his pillow.

"There, Tom," he said, as he care-
fully tamped the floor ; "I don't think
Joyce'll find it now."

That afternoon Dick also managed to
see Sammy Griggs, and induced him to
go after the doctor. He promised him
£50 if he went at once ; the money to be
paid on his return. Sammy, who was
in low water financially, jumped at the
offer but wanted some money at once.

This Dick refused : he knew if Sammy
had money he would immediately and
helplessly get drunk. Finally, Griggs
agreed to start next morning. Dick
went back, well pleased with his bar-
gain. He hoped devoutly that Griggs
would catch Treas at home.

Early next morning Kay called and
inquired after Tom again. He inquired
in kindly fashion, and did not offer to
come inside. Dick began to think he
had misjudged the man. Was he gen

uinely interested in Tom's welfare, or
was he in Joyce's plot?

Dick determined to seo if he could
find out hy taking a pot-shot. When
Kay was about to go, Dick picked up
the dish he had brought the day before.
.'Here's Pu<r Joyce's dish," he said, with
deliberate emphasis. "You may as well
take it back.''

The shot went right home. Watching
Kay's face closely as he spoke, Dick had
noted its sudden flush, and the quick,
suspicious glance that was shot at him
at the mention of Joyce's name.

"You'd better get now-quick."

Kay took him at his word. Snatch-
ing the dish, he turned and walked
quickly away without a word. There
was no longer any doubt about his guilt.
Dick chuckled as he thought how clean-
ly Kay had been bowled. He felt quite

pleased with himself. It's always in-
teresting to know who are our enemies.

A little later the same morning Joyce
again appeared at the camp. He was
met outside the door by Dick, who had
been expecting him. Mr. Joyce ap-
peared to be in rather an amiable mood.

"G'-day," he said, affably. "I've
brought some stuff for Tom."

' Tliank you."

Dick took the bottle Joyce handed
him. He was wondering what the

"stuff" was, but did not feel over-an-
xious to try it.

"That'll set 'im up, I think." continued
Mr. Joyce, who seemed to be anxious to
sustain a conversation.

"Yes," murmured Dick, as he let the
bottle slip deliberately through his fin-
gers, and fall with a crash on a stone
at his feet. "But it's safer there."

He spoke quietly-too quietly ; ai<d
the light of battle was in his eye.

"You needn't bother coming in,
Joyce," he went on, coolly, as the man
glared at him in speechless amazement.
"And-if it's all the same to you-I
won't mind you not coming again. In
fact I'd rather prefer it."

As he grasped the meaning of the si-
tuation, Joyce's face turned a shade red-
der than usual. For a moment he posi-
tively gasped with fury. The moment

later, having regained his breath, the
full soul of Mr. Joyce found utterance.
He resorted, in his distress, to language
which came strong and lurid. For some
minutes Mr. Joyce succeeded in making
himself perfectly audible. Several blas-
phemous, and a good many uncompli-
mentary things were said, special refer-
ence being made to those who despite-
ful ly use their benefactors In its way,
it was quite a rhetorical triumph.

When he stopped for breath, Dick

stepped close to him. and looked him in
the eyes.

"That's all right, Joyce," he said,
with dangerous calm. "You'd better
go home now I"

Haring said which, he turned his
back pointedly on his visito-r, and
walked slowly into the camp. The
expression on Mr. Joyce's face, a-,

lie turned away, was not gaod to

see.

"It's war to the knife now. Tom, old
boy," Dick remarked cheerfully, as he
got out a revolver, and began to exa-
mine it with some care. "Joyce has
gone home very angry. He'll probably

come back."

Shortly after Joyce reached his "shan-
ty," feeling very hot and angry, he saw
an opportunity to taste the sweets of
revenge. He was feeling very much

that way just then. The opportunity
came in the person of Sammy Griggs,
who wa? coming along the road, fitted up
for a trip. Joyce guessed where he was
going,

"Yer lookin' quite spruce, Sammy,"
he hailed. "I see yer goin' to
bleach yer bones in the desert,

chasin' Treas."

Sammy, who had stopped, admitted
that he was going across for the doctor,
but humbly trusted his bones would be

none Help

A CHAFFCTJTTER AT WORK.

none Help

LUNCH TIME.

¿\ illili A' llJAi XXX tlV-i-Vi».. - -

OUR PRIZE FARM VIEWS. HY MK. E. T. HAMERSLEY, WOODSIDE, YORK.

left unbleached a little longer than
friend Joyce anticipated.

"Don't see 'ow yer goin* to do it," said
Joyce, dolefully. 'Owever, that's your
business. Sammy, not mine. But
yer'd better 'ave a drink 'fore yer go.
Yer mightn't 'ave many more, jer
know," he concluded, in that pleasant
way of his.

Sammy thought he would have one.
Mr. Joyce made him very welcome, After
the first drink had vanished, a second,
and then a third followed in quick suc-
cession.

Sammy had never known Mr. Joyce to
he so generous before. It would be a
pity to check such a fine flow of generos-
ity. Sammy decided he could not think
of doing such a thing. Somewhere about
the tenth drink he began to have a hazy
notion that that was a record for Mr.
Joyce's generosity. Bu^, discreetly, he
said nothing and dramk steadily.

At heart, Sammy Griggs was not a bad
fellow. Had he not been fond of get-
ting drunk, he would have been a decent
.sort. But, unfortunately, of the two
«ourses open to him, Sammy decidedly

preferred get ing drunk. Before long,
he had forgotten all about his journey
and the fifty pounds. Like many who
think themselves very much wiser than
he. Sammy preferred present gratifica-
tion to future reward. The worst of it
is that duty is generally sacrificed in the

process.

An hour later, when Sammy Griggs
was bundled into a back room, dead
drunk, Mr. Joyce chuckled very wick-
edly.

A week had passed when Dick Morris,

with haggard anxious face, staggered in-
to his camp and stood again by his mate's
side. He had a letter in hiß hand. It
was addressed "Tom Simpson." He had
just got it from the store. The month-
ly mail had arrived in Streaky that day.

As he came in Dick looked worn and
dejected. For many nights past he had
had only little broken snatches of rest;
to-day his heart was very heavy. Tom's
condition was becoming more critical ev-
ery day ; all he had been able to do seem-
ed vain. To make his dejection more com-
plete, he had learned to-day, when he

was hoping against hope that the doc-
tor might yet come in time, that Griggs
had never left Streaky Camp. He hat-
ed to have to do it, but though'; it only
fair to tell Tom what he had found out.

"Toni," he said, with an effort, "the
doctor wonjt be able to get here. Griggs'
trip was no go."

"Never mind about that, Dick. It
wouldn't be much use him coming.
You're doing all that can be done."

Tom spoke slowly, pausing between
the words for breath. He was feel-
ing desperately low ; he knew that the

unequal struggle could not last much
longer.

"D'you get a letter, Dick?"

"Yes. It's for you-of course."

Dick smiled faintly on the last words ;
he never got any letters, because, like
many other people we all know, he ne-
ver wrote any. But Tom wrote home
regularly, and got a letter every month.

'Tm glad it's come," he said, with a
smile. "I wanted to get one more.
I'm sure it's from the ma.er."

It was. As he took the envelope from
Dick he recognised the writing, and his

outstretched hand trembled with excite-
ment. When he thought Dick was not
looking, he raised the envelope to his
parched lips and kissed it passionately,
while tears stood in his eyes. He was a
lonely man, and dying-and the coming
of this letter had moved him strangely.
Be it remembered, it was from his mo-
ther- ;he last he would receive.

For a few minutes he tried to read,
bu . had to give up.

"Dick," he said plaintively, "I don't
seem to see properly. Will you read it

for me?"

"Certainly, old man." And Dick sat
down by his side and took the letter
with a kindly smile. In his heart, Dick
knew that reading that letter aloud was
going to be one of the hardest jobs he
had ever taken on. There are a good
many things harder than carrying bricks.
Dick knew this was one of them. But
of this he said nothing, as he cleared his
throat and began to read.

The letter, written in a jerky angular
hand which revealed the fact that the
writer's ringers were getting stiff, was
not long. But it was full of motherly

solicitation and love. Tho opening pages
contained many little items ol news
about the old home; a little sister uas
mentioned frequently ; the regards of
many friends were conveyed. Towards
the close, the writer seemed to have been
filled with yearnings for her son's return.
She had missed him terribly of late, and
daily prayed forhisreturn. Sometimes she
wondered strangely if she would ever see
him again. It was foolish, wasn't it? But
when did he think he would be able to
ccme hom-3 again ? It was lonely w.th
out him she said as she closed her letter

with, many expressions of love, "and the
days seemed very long."

Parts of the letter Dick could scarcely
read. Several times his voice grew hus-
ky and indistinct ; towards the close he
lost the place twice and had to stop. But
Tom had not noticed anything. Eagerly
he liste..ed to the words that seemed to
come like healing balm to his lonely
heart. Tears filled his eyes, and his lips
were silently moving when Dick's "oiee
died away.

For a long time neither of them spoke.
Their minds just then were a long v ay

from Streaky ; they were at home again,
and each man was thinking of his mo-
tlier. At last tlie long silence was bro-
ken by thc sick man.

"You'll write. Dick-and tell lier?
Tell her'"-his voice broke-"I couldn't
come. But, Dick! Say I'll see her
there." He pointed feebly towards the
dust-laden battered roof of the camp
above and beyond which stretched the
great blue dome of heaven.

none Help

GERALDTON, PROM THE END OF THE JETTY.

For a time Dick did not speak. A
man's words do not come easily at such
times.

'Til tell her, Tom," he said very ear-
nestly. "I'll tell her-everything 1"

A radiant smile of satisfaction, like that
of a happy child, rewarded his words. A
few moments later Tom looked up again
into his mate's face with wistful plead-
ing earnestness ns be- spoke.

"And. Dick-you'd better go home!"
For a long time there was no reply.
Dick, with his head bowed in his hands,

FREMANTLE HARBOUR ON A SLACK DAY. BUNBURY, THE PORT OF THE SOUTH-WEST. Help

FREMANTLE HARBOUR ON A SLACK DAY.

could not trust himself to speak ; his
thoughts were full of deep remorse.
Several years ago he had left his home,
and his people, and come to the West.
Fie was young and wild then ; he had
played the fool. Since Tom had joined
him in Streaky he had been better, for
Tom was a quieter sort. But he was
not proud of his record, as he now recall-
ed it. For some time past, especially
since Streaky had deserted him, and
left Tom unassisted, he had been tasting
the prodigal's husks. To-day he saw his

FREMANTLE HARBOUR ON A SLACK DAY. BUNBURY, THE PORT OF THE SOUTH-WEST. Help

BUNBURY, THE PORT OF THE SOUTH-WEST.

cruelty to those who loved him, as he had
never seen it before.

Tom's letter had spoken deep to him.
It might have been written by his own
mother. He had not intended to ne-
glect the old people when he left them,
but, except for a couple of letters after
he first left home, he had never written.
At first he had been down on his luck,
a d had nothing gofa to report. Then,
»hen his luck improved, his living had
not ; and, again, there was nothing good

to report. And so the days, and the
months had passed.

This sort of thing is wonderfully easily
done-and done, too, by many people
who don't mean to be heartless and
cruel. "To-morrow," they say. or "next
week. I will write." But "to-morrow"
comes, and "next week" passes, and no
letter is written-and a heart somewhere
slowly turns sick and heavy because of
hope deferred. Our cruelty to those

who love us-it is a great mystery ! Dick
had heard of his parents' move to Perth,
where they had come after him, and had
been able to guess the reason for it ; but,
even then, he had not written. First,
shame stayed him ; then, he thought he
could wait till he could say he was com-
ing to them. And thus the silence con-
tinued unbroken.

At last, the prodigal had come to him-
self. As he sat by his dying mate's side
pondering the last words he had spoken,
his unworthiness overwhelmed him and

the strong man was humbled to tears.
Dick Morris resolved to go home.

« * *

Dick Morris stood in the middle of his
camp in the dark straining his ears to
hear the sound repeated. The room v as
pitch dark ; the silence was intense. It
was a little after mid-night, and as he
stood in the darkness straining his eyes
and ears for sight or sound, the whole
of Streaky Camp seemed wrapped in
ghostly silence.

In spite of the silence, Dick feared

someone was abroad. A moment or two
before he had been lying-awake, by a
lucky chance-in his bunk when he
heard, as he thought, someone stealthily
approaching the wall against which he
lay. There had been only the faintest
possible sound ; but it alarmed him.
Quickly, but with extreme care, and
noiselessly, he had jumped out on to the
floor, and grasping his revolver, stood
ready for whatever might come. He
stood for what seemed an interminably

long time without anything further hap-
pening He began to think he had been
needlessly ready to take alarm.

A week had gone by since Tom Simp-
son had been laid to rest a little way
from where Dick stood. To-night, Dick's
swag, containing all he could take of his
belongings, had been packed. He stood
in his day clothes ; he had been sleeping
in them. Although no one in the place
knew it, he meant, early in the morning.

to reduce the population of Streaky
Camp by one.

Since the day of his outburst in front
of the camp, more than a fortnight ago.
Joyce had managed to keep out of Dick's
way. Of Kay he had seen nothing.
They both appeared to be ryin«j very low.
Bat Dick knew enough of Joyce to know
that this meant danger rather than
security. That was why he paid so
much attention just now to midnight

noises.

He had just concluded that he had bet

ter get back to bed when another sound
roused Dick to alert, eager attention. A
short quick scratch, as of a knife stab-
bed into cloth, came from the wall near
the head of his bunk. Dick could hear
his heart thumping violently ; he strain-
ed to catch any further sound. But
none came. Again for some seconds an
intense oppressive silence fell upon the
room. Perhaps it was only a mouse of-
ter all. He began to think he was los-
ing his nerve and developing a vivid im-
agination. The strain of the last few

weeks was telling on him. He had bet-
ter go to bed. But presently, he heard
something again. This time a longer,
swishing sound broke the intense si-
lence. Now he guessed what it was ;
someone was cutting the hessian wall.
Silently Dick stepped close to the place
the sound came from. Then he stood
stock still-waiting.

Another moment and he could hear
something being gently pushed through
the wall into the room. Peering eager.

ly into the dark he felt, rather than saw,
something move slowly along the top of
his stretcher. It was too dark to tell
what it was. The suspense was terrible.
A vague uncanny fear ran through him
as he stared into the impenetrable dark.

Soon a soft, almost inaudible sound,
like something rubbing against cloth,
smote his ear. He fancied his pillow
moved slightly. Trembling with ex-
citement he grasped his revolver tightly

in his right hand and held it before him ;
with the left he reached out before him
through the darkness. It seemed an
hour before he touched anything. He
seemed to be groping through untenant-
ed space. Then, suddenly, something
stomped his advancing hand ; a cold shiv-
er ran through him. His outstretched
fingers touched-naked flesh.

"Shoot !" he heard someone hurriedly
whisper. Instantly, from beyond the
wall, a revolver shot rang out. A bul-
let tore through the stretcher and

dug itself viciously into the floor
beneath.

Then Dick fired twice in succession,
aiming straight in front of him. After
the first shot he heard a a.uick sharply
uttered oath ; he recognised Joyce's
voice. When the second report died
away, he heard the heavy footfalls of
someone running quickly towards
Streaky. He rushed out and fired again
in the direction of the sound. Evident
lv he nrssed.

Coming back into the room Dick lit a

candle and exam i ned the track of the bul-
let which had been fired from outside.
The thing had gone right into the middle
of the bunk about a foot from the pillow.

"I'd have a bad chest now," he mut-
tered grimly, "if I'd been in bed."

As he spoke he heard a low stifled
groan beyond the wall, which made him
suddenly start. Going out he held the
candle high and peered into the night.
In the dim light he was amazed to see
the body of Joyce wedged against the

wall. Swiftly he ducked back, fearing
another shot, but the man made no move.
Peeping cautiously round, Dick saw that
the man's eyes were closed ; he had evi-
dently fainted. The man's leg was
badly wounded, and his body pressed
heavily against the wall, while his right
arni, bared to the shoulder, protruded
through a hole that had been cut in the

wall.

Joyce had thrust his arm through the

hole to reach the bag be thought Dick
kept under his pillow. On being disturb-
ed, his companion, who evidently stood
over him ready to fire, had puta bullet
through the wall into the stretcher. The
whole thing had been carefully planned
and had failed just at one point ; Dick
should have been asleep in bed.

Having taken in the situation, Dick
dragged Joyce into the room and lurched
him heavily into his bunk. He then tied
an old towel around the man's Meeding
leg and was washing his hands whe:>

Joyce opened his eyes. When he saw
where he was and Avho was with him he
started with fear.

"Yes you noble swine," said Dick,
cheerfully. "It's more than you de-
serve ! Oh." he added with pretended
wistfulness, "I'd love to put a bullet into
you : but I haven't the heart-you look

such a coward !"

Hot anger flushed Joyce's pale face.

"Oh. by the way, Joyce, that stuff you
wanted so badly is here." And Dick
kicked his swag before swinging it 0.1 to

his shoulders. "Fm taking it with me.
And I say. Joyce, as one who is interested
in your career, do let me advise you to
stick to your own line of business. These
side lir.es you've been going in for are
dangerous, and you know"-he snvlcd
pleasantly as if he saw a joke somewhere

-"you might get hurt. So long! I'm

off!"

At 2 a.m.-a little earlier than he had
intended-Dick Morris swung out of tho
door and began his journey home.

$