We of the Never-Never Part 28

"A year to-day, Mac, since you sent those telegrams!" we said, near the beginning of those weeks; and, all mock gravity, Mac answered "Yes! And blocked that Goer!... Often wondered what happened to her!"

"A year to-day, gentlemen," I added a few days later, "since you flung that woman across the Fergusson"; and as Mac enjoyed the reminiscence, the Maluka said: "And forgot to fling the false veneer of civilisation after her."

A few days later again we were greeting Tam at the homestead. "Just a year ago, Tam," we said, "you were..." but Tam's horse was young and untutored, and, getting out of hand, carried Tam away beyond the buildings. "A Tam-o'-Shanter fleeing," the Maluka once more murmured.

Then Dan filled in the days, until one evening just at sundown, when we said:

"A year this sundown, Dan, since we first sampled one of your dampers,"

and, chuckling, Dan reviewed the details of that camp, and slipped thence into reviewing education. "Somebody's learned a thing or two since then," he chuckled: "don't notice people catching cows and milking 'em round these parts quite so often."

In the morning came the Quiet Stockman's turn. "There's a little brown filly in the mob I'm just beginning on, cut out for the missus," he said, coming to the house on his way to the stockyard, and we went with him to see the bonnie creature.

"She's the sort that'll learn anything," Jack said, his voice full of admiration. "If the missus'll handle her a bit, I'll learn her everything a horse can learn."

"Gypsy" he had named her, and in a little while the pretty creature was "roped" and standing quietly beneath Jack's caressing hand. "Now, missus," he said--and then followed my first lesson in "handling," until the soft brown muzzle was resting contentedly in my hand. "She'll soon follow you," Jack said eagerly, "you ought to come up every day "; and looking up at the glowing, boyish face, I said quietly:

"Just a year to-day, Jack, since you met us by the roadside," and the strong young giant looked down with an amused light in his eyes. "Just a year," he said, with that quiet smile of his; and that quiet smile, and that amused "Just a year" were more eloquent than volumes of words, and set Dan "reckoning" that somebody else's been learning a thing or two besides book learning.

But the Dandy was waiting for some tools from the office, and as we went with him he, too, spoke of the anniversaries. "Just a year since you first put foot on this verandah," he said, and that reminiscence brought into the Maluka's eyes that deep look of bush comradeship, as he added: "And became just One of Us."

Before long Mac was reminding us that a year ago she was wrestling with the servant question, and Cheon coming by, we indulged in a negative anniversary. "A year ago, Cheon," we said "there was no Cheon in our lives," and Cheon pitied our former forlorn condition as only Cheon could, at the same time asking us what could be expected of one of Sam's ways and caste.

Then other anniversaries crowded on us thick and fast, and with them there crept into the Territory that scourge of the wet season--malarial dysentery, and travellers coming in stricken-down with it rested a little while before going on again.

But two of these sick travellers went down to the very gates of death, where one, a little Chinaman, slipped through, blessing the "good boss,"

who treated all men alike, and leaving an echo of the blessing in old Cheon's loyal heart. But the other sick traveller turned back from those open gates, although bowed with the weight of seventy years, and faced life anew, blessing in his turn "the whitest man" those seventy years had known.

Bravely the worn, bowed shoulders took up the burden of life again, and, as they squared to their load, we slipped back to our anniversaries--once more Jack went bush for the schooling of his colts, once more Mac and Dan went into the Katherine to "see about the ordering of stores," Tam going with them; and as they rode out of the homestead, once more we slipped, with the Dandy, into the Land of Wait-a-while--waiting once more for the wet to lift, for the waggons to come, and for the Territory to rouse itself for another year's work.

Full of bright hopes, we rested in that Land of Wait-a-while, speaking of the years to come, when the bush-folk will have conquered the Never-Never and lain it at the feet of great cities; and, waiting and resting, made merry and planned plans, all unconscious of the great shadow that was even then hovering over us.

CHAPTER XXV AND LAST

There is little more to tell. Just that old, old story--that sad refrain of the Kaffir woman that we British-born can conquer anything but Death.

All unaware, that scourge of the Wet crept back to the homestead, and the great Shadow, closing in on us, flung wide those gates of Death once more, and turning, before pa.s.sing through, beckoned to our Maluka to follow. But at those open gates the Maluka lingered a little while with those who were fighting so fiercely and impotently to close them--lingering to teach us out of his own great faith that "Behind all Shadows standeth G.o.d." And then the gates gently closing, a woman stood alone in that little home that had been wrested, so merrily, out of the very heart of Nature.

That is all the world need know. All else lies deed in the silent hearts of the Men of the Never-Never, in those great, silent hearts that came in to the woman at her need; came in at the Dandy's call, and went out to her, and shut her in from all the dangers and terror that beset her, quietly mourning their own loss the while. And as those great hearts mourned, ever and anon a long-drawn-out, sobbing cry went up from the camp, as the tribe mourned for their beloved dead--their dead and ours--our Maluka, "the best Boss that ever a man struck."