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The Outposts of the West.
W. Anderson, Osborne Park, forward
the following taken from an oversea
newspaper.
"It was a wild, lonely spot, even in th
north of Western Australia, where one be
comes accustomed to distance and iso
lation. One hundred and fifty mile
north from the nearest settlement, ove
rough roads-if they could be calle<
roads-there was a little out-statioi
where the one white man and his wifi
could be found. Their neighbours wen
nearly 200 miles south. The place itsel
was just the ordinary 'bush house' bu
to them it was home and in these difil
cult times it was a job-a means of liveh
hood. He was an ex-soldier and had seer
considerable service in the Great War
which had left its mark on the formej
robust constitution. He had been caugh
with some of his cobbers in a gas at-
tack. Many of them had gone undei
but, although he was alive, it was at i
price. There were times when the tor-
tured lungs nearly refused to function
and he felt like making an end of it ali
but there were the wife and kiddies tr
consider and after all, this cattle job
with its life in God's pure air, might
keep hun going until the children wer*
old enough to work. He didn't want tc
tell his little wife the whole truth about
the pain, but with womanly intuition she
knew; those spasms of coughing, that
tell-tale look, and pale face, were all an
open book to her. Well, if he had'given his
best for King and country she would
give hers for him and the children.
"He got along fairly well in the dry
season, but when the rain came, and
everything was sodden and damp, the
coughing was more severe and the pain
at times agonising. Yet with that grit
which won fame for the boys he stuck
to his post until at last he was forced
to give in. He had lain in agony for
some days. It was the wet season, and
there was not much chance of anyone
coming along, although they were ex-
pecting a stockman to ride in any day.
With loving devotion she had tended him,
but something told her that the end
was near. With tender hands. she
smoothed the hair from the tortured
brow, and he could only whisper between
the spasms of laboured breathing: 'Nellie,
lass, one of the best-the kiddies.' She
understood. He wanted to see them, per-
haps for the last time. No! No! Not for
the last time. Her heart was full, but
she must be brave. Surely God in His
infinite mercy would not forsake her in
her hour of trial. If only she could have
sent a message, or have even gone her-
self for assistance to her nearest neigh-
bour. There were the horses but it was
a two-day journey under the present con-
ditions. The black boys, as usual in the
presence of death or the dying, were
keeping away.
"The children came silently into that
rough bedroom. Poor mites, they could
not understand but could only look with
questioning eyes into the careworn face
of their mother. He half turned, and a
smile flitted across the wan features as
he whispered each of their- names.
"During the night the call came.
Alone! Alone with her dead. But al-
though her heart was broken, and her
eyes red with weeping, her loved one
must still have her devotion. She could
not think of placing him in the ground
without the usual preparations. Yes; he
must have her love, even in death. But
the digging of the grave; she felt so
weak and weary. Yet it would have to
be done. She was his wife and mother
of his children. Yes, she would see it
through next morning, perhaps the rain
would then have ceased. As if in answer
to her prayers the sun rose with its
pitiless glare next morning and she made
preparations for the last lonely rites. She
felt perhaps it would be better to read
the simple Gospel message prior to the
exertion of digging the grave.
"'Let not your heart be troubled, ve
believe in God, believe also in Me,' she
read on in' a voice hoarse with emotion,
but before completing the chapter, 6he
heard a noise outside! It was the stock-
man. She broke down. With the char-
acteristic manner of bushmen, he saw
and understood. 'You go to the children
and leave the rest to me,' was all he said.
There was a tree near the house so he
laid him to rest beneath its shade.
"Yes, Australia, you may erect mem-
orials to your heroes, but out in the vast
spaces there are also imperishable mem-
orials. Lonely graves which tell their i
own story of heroism and devotion." j
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