The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1909-03-12

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How did you find me?"
Knew where you were, weeks back.
Are you going?'
Mullins, how can l go? I'm a
backyard, and "a"
oh, law and glory, what does it
matter what sort a man is If a girl
wants him? Will you git?"
And he gave Stevens nag a smack
across the finaks that sent the beast
plunging forward like wallaby. Fred
turned in his saddle, waved his hand,
and then buckled down to the ride. He
had made up his mind. Derry wanted
him. That was enough. And, besides,
he began to realize that he wanted
her very much, too.
| 1t was easy going across the plain,
for the rain had settled the choking
dust, but had not yet flooded every
thing. His pony covered mile after
mile with the swinging, steady stride
OF bush-bred nag. She was a game
little beast, and In the pink of condi-
ton. He reached the foot of the ran
ges in no time.
|
The slope was steep, and the pony's
hoofs slipped and slithered on the
! shaly ground. At the top of the first
rise she was painting, and he had to
ease her for few minutes to give her
breather. Then they went down the
slope at a canter, and up the next
rise.
Then he urged her into hand-gal-
lop. The trail was invisible to any
one but bushman. But Fred Stevens
! knew every inch of 1t, and the pony
threaded her way through the gum
trees as only horse bred in the bush
can.
She did the 20 miles to the Sturra
river in a couple of hours. Once she
seemed to falter, and Stevens heart
went into his mouth. But is was only
a stumble. She recovered in a mo-
ment, and the stroke Of her hoofs was
as regular as ever, her breathing came
clear and steady.
And then they came to the river.
The ford was gone. The rain of the
past few days had swollen the Sturra
from narrow sluggish stream to a
wide swift food
Stevens refined in aghast. For a
moment he stared blankly at the river.
But Mullins must have crossed it; and
though he had certainly saved his nag,
he couldn't show Fred Stevens any
thing in riding. And, anyway, there
: was no help for it. Not for miles up
and down stream was there any sort of
ford. Cross here he must.
He nudged the pony with his knees,
and chucked the reins sharply. She
started off at canter, and then broke
into q gallop. At the waters edge
she slackened, faltered and paused.
Good lass! In with you, then!"
breathed Stevens, hoarsely.
She gathered herself together, and
leaped out into the water; her forelegs
stretched out, one long, shapely pas
tern above the other. She struck the
water with resounding splash, and
went nearly under. Then she rose
again and struck out for the opposite
side.
Stevens slipped out of the saddle
and swan beside her, one hand on the
bride.
The tide carried them down q yard
at time; and when at last she strug-
gled ashore on the opposite bank, they
had to cast back nearly half mile
to the trail. Then away they went
again.
The sun was beating down on the
mans bare head. His hat had been
swept off In the river. Things went
dim and misty every now and then.
He began to sway in his saddle once
or twice. Only when the pony's stride
began to slacken did he pull himself
together and urge her on again.
They topped rise, and the long,
low buildings of the Watawa station
came into sight, beyond stretch of
malice scrub. At last! Stevens
brushed the hair back from his fore
head, and smacked the pony gaiIy
on the neck. She shook her head and
whinnied plaintively.
Whats up, old girl?" he cried.
She stumbled on for few yards and
then collapsed. He only just slipped
out of the saddle in time.
He stood looking down at her. Her
bloodshot eyes were rolling, her breath
came in deep gasps, her foam-fecked
chest was heaving.
He knelt down and stroked her neck
soothingly, murmuring soft words Of
! encouragement. In little while she
responded, and struggled to her feet.
He led her for few yards, patting her
and letting her feel her way gingerly.
Then he clambered into the saddle
and set her off.
They plunged madly through the
malice. The sharp thorns tore the
pony's chest and TANKS, and made
great ugly tears in the mans breeches.
Even his brown arms were scratched
and bleeding. But they struggled
gamely on, and at last broke out of
the fringe of the malice into the grassy
paddock beyond. And then the nag
went down with a crash, flinging Ste
veHs over her head. He sprang to his
feet, and stood there staring at her
dazedly. But she had foundered hope
lessly this time.
Then he turned and ran towards the
house, staggering blindly across the
grass.
Dorothy lay back in wicker chair
on the veranda, looking out at the
rapidly deepening afterglow. Suddenly
faint, hoarse coe-ee came across the
paddock. She looked up wonderingly,