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Show H THE LAND OF NEVER-NEVER K By J. J. Underwood, Author of "Alaska, an H Empire in the Making" H Hell held no terrors for the forty thousand H reckless men and Ave women who spent the H Christmas season at Coolgardie, a big and pros- H perous and lawless mining field situated in the H center of the dread West Australian deserts. Day m in, day out, during the twelve months of summer H! it never rained at Coolgardie the sun burned p down from a hard, blue sky -with dazzling, eye- H searing brilliancy, shriveling every vestige of veg- H etation from the tented metropolis to the hori- H zon. Only once in the memory of white man H had water fallen from the skies. Then it had H come in the form of a cloudburst, and for a few Hv days there was cessation of red dust storms. H Apart from mining, saloon-keeping was Cool- V gardio's chief industry. For two months before H Christmas, the tlfermometer had osillated around H the mark indicating one hundred and twenty de- H gress in the shade, and, quite naturally, under t these distressingly torrid circumstances, the sa- H loons, doing business in galvanized iron build- h ings, were the most frequented resorts in the set- V tlement. The walls of these structures during m the burning days were heated to such a degree H that bared hands accidentally rubbed against them H were blistered. Whiskey was the popular drink. H It sold for twenty-four cents the glass, with H twelve cents added for a chaser of water, man- H ufactured at the salt lakes by condensers, or H dragged many miles from the native "soaks." H Law and order were unknown at Coolgardie. H There was no police, no jail nothing but a pro- H gress committee a body of vigilantes who dis- H pensed justice in a rough, yet withal, fairly sat- H isfactory manner. North of Coolgardie, about one B hundred miles, crossed a certain meridian known V as the "murder line." Below this line "black- L birdlng" ishootlng aboriginal blacks on sight, m which was one of Coolgardie's popular forms of H outdoor amusements, was prohibited by law, but H not as the law was construed by the progress committee. B "These blacks are all hostile," argued the B members of the committee. "The fellows who H made the law knew nothing about the murderous m habits of wild niggers." H So, every time a camel was speared, or a white H man's head was crushed in with a stone toma- H hawk or club, summary vengeance was wrought. H These were the chaotic conditions out of which HI Warden Gibson was charged by the government B to bring order. The warden was invested with M large discretionary power, In that he was instruct- M ed to enforce existing laws and to create such H new ones as he should deem expedient to fit the HI local conditions. H "You know the location of Mount Disappoint- H ment, Sergeant?" Warden Gibson addressed one H , of his bicycle express riders, a band of sinewy H men inured to the hardships of the desert. H "Yes, sir."1 HL ' "You'll start this afternoon, taking the trail to Hi Roaring Gimlet, thence to Mount Margaret, by U , way of Pendinni. These will be your stops for H water. From there you will have to make your I way across the desert as best you can to your destination. Tell the miners they must not come jyj back this way, but to go through to Murchison. wLl The chain of waterholes are dry. If you run H across Jim Cosgrove, take him in. He's been Hj blacskbirding below the line. Here's the warrant. Ml Take, Jack Douglas and Alec Grant with you. If 9 you find Cosgrove, send Grant back with him." H "Yes, sir." Sergeant Bill Hamilton left. H It waa nearing the end of the fourth day on VS the" scorching desert. From the gray of dawn, R when they awoke with thirst-dried throats, three men had walked and wheeled their machines through the caloric sands of the Woolladdie plan. The sand ran like hot ashes, filling the holes their footsteps ploughed. They left no tracks. For three days agonizing pains had torn their limbs, and the sharp granules had cut viciously Into their sore and blistered feet. The last precious preci-ous drop of water had been consumed the night before. "This Is a hell of a Christmas Eve," mumbled Hamilton through sunblistered lips, as he peered with bloodshot eyes at the surrounding gray places. Grant collapsed. "I'm all in," he husked. "I can't go another step. You fellows go and leave me." He spoke like a man with a plum in his mouth. Both Hamilton and Douglas knew the sign only to well Grant's tongue was swelling. "Drop that kind of talk. Don't be a quitter!" The sergeant raised Grant to his feet. "There's rocks a few miles ahead and water maybe," he continued, "I can see the trees now." He didn't tell Grant, but he held a deep suspicion that the trees were the result of a hocus-pocus performance perform-ance on the part of Mother Nature, who sometimes some-times cruelly mocks thirsting and starving men by making them think they see that which they most desire. Grant collapsed again. "I drank the oil oat of my lamp I was choking," he confessed. "I think it must have poisoned me. I thought my throat was on fire," he pleaded In extenuation. Again they lifted him, and placed him astride his wheel. Between them they managed to propel pro-pel him to the edge of the rocky country, where they placed him in the shade of a tree, while they returned for their own mounts. Grant had revived re-vived somewhat from the rest "Let's tow him," suggested Douglas. "I'll take first pull. He's surely strong enough to steer.'" He attached a rope to the front post of Grant's machine. For a mile or more they traveled. Then Grant allowed his machine to run over the two line and he was thrown heavily. The impact im-pact of his head against a rock rendered him unconscious. "This is going to be a happy Christmas, Bill, I don't think," muttered Douglas. "What In Ned do you s'pose we're going to do now?" he asked. They dragged Grant Into the shade of .a sandalwood sandal-wood tree, on the edge of the desert, and brushed the sand fles from his wounded head with a salt-brush salt-brush twig. "Things seem to be getting no better fast," volunteered Hamilton, grimly. "It's certain we can't leave him here to die alone to be eaten alive by the ants and files." Douglas stared at Grant's huddled and recumbent recum-bent form. "If we had a pint of water we might be able to save him," he ventured. "The next water is at Pendinni," Hamilton said. "One of us must go and one stay: Pen-dinnl's Pen-dinnl's sixty miles from here. It's a bad bet either way bad for the one who goes and bad for the one who stays. You're the strongest rider. You may get back by tomorrow night! get back before that If you can. If Grant dies I'll follow you, but meet me on the trail, for I'll be needing you, Dug, old pal, and needing you badly." They stared Into each other's eyes, and shook hands solemnly In the gathering dusk. The memory mem-ory of many battles fought side by side on the desert was In their minds. They wondered would they see each other again. Hamilton awoke and tried vainly to spit. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. All night long Grant had raved deliriously of running brooks and fishing streams. Towards morning the night air seemed to cool his fevered brain, and Hamilton had been able to snatch a little sleep. As the day wore on, the sun poured its piti-1 piti-1 less rays down on the burning sands. At times I Hamilton felt that his brain was boiling, and he 1 knew that before night he, too, would be deliri ous. He tried to keep himself from starting out on the blinding glare of the desert. Now and again he looked at his companion, to see if Death had released him from his vigil. He wondered would Douglas return. Wihat had happened to L him. Suppose Dug had broken some part of L his wheel! W Hamilton knew now that he was too far gone y ever to reach Pendiuni without water. The re turn' of Douglas was nis only hope of rescue. He though of all the drinks he had taken of brandy and sodas and iced champagne that he had consumed con-sumed in profligate and ribald waste. No, he didn't want any of them. .Never again for him. All the wanted was water water, cool and sparkling, spark-ling, such as ran gurglingly through the creek back on the Eastern farm where he had spent his boyhood days. Was it a bell he heard? Of course not. It was a phantasy of his distorted brain. Was that a camel he saw coming through the shimmering heat waves, with two men riding on it? Of course, it couldn't possibly be. It was simply a mirage one of Nature's little meannesses. But why did Nature so cruelly tantalize him by showing show-ing him the things he wished most to see? He'd close his eyes. He wouldn't look. He'd have to watch himself, or something might tempt him to go wandering off on the desert. He'd keep his mind on Grant. Yes, Grant was still breathing. "Get out the water bags, Jim quick." It was a real voice. Hamilton looked. Yes sure. There was Dug good, brave old Dug and he was unstrapping a water bag from a camel's pack, and a strange man was hastily assisting him. "MJerry Christmas!" greeted the stranger. Yes, it was a Merry Christmas after all, for here was water to cool his burning brain and frizzling flesh. Hamilton opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. He gasped several times and reached his hands forward entreat-ingly. entreat-ingly. "Get busy with the other fellow, Jim," ordered Douglas, "sosh some water on his head. Pour some in his mouth and wash it out." He gently laid Hamilton on his back and held the funnel of the water bag to his cracked lips. "So you're Jim Cosgrove?" Sergeant Hamilton stared at the sun-scarred visage of the big, blond man who had rescued him. They sat in the shade of a small currajong tree. "Lucky for Grant and I that Douglas met you on the trail. x We'd have passed out, sure. Tell me something ifr " how did you come to kill those niggers at Skull f Creek? Why did you do it?" "Did you ever have a partner," countered Cos-grove; Cos-grove; "a pal that had saved your life; that had shared with you his last crust of damper or his last drop of water, and who wouldn't drink when his tongue was swollen because he thought you needed the water worse than he did? If you saw that partner stone-axed to death by a couple of these niggers, and it you had your camels speared, what yould you do? Suppose you saw Douglas lying out there in the sand with his head all crushed and his brain oozing out and his sweltering blood turning the grit crimson, what would you do? Do you think you'd stop to consider con-sider the location of the murder line?" "Humph!" Hamilton grunted, menacingly. "I would like to see the man, black or white, that would layj a hand on Dug, except in fun. It would be his last move. Dug and I have been pals and partners for years; we've shared everything together. to-gether. I'd burn in hell for him." F fVHHBMMWiSuiwitii' - Cosgrove didn't answer. Both stared silently out on the desert. Under another stunted tree l)ouglas and Grant were getting ready to continue con-tinue their journey. Hamilton faced Cosgrove again. "Jim," he said irrelevantly; "the trail is open to Eucla, on the South Australian border. There's lots of water if you go by way of Dundas Hills. I" send Grant back to Coolgardlo from Pendinni. He doesn't know anything about this Christmas present pres-ent I'm giving you." He handed Cosgrove the warrant for his arrest. Three weeks later a couple of atter-demalions rode along the trail leading to Coolgardie. Their shirts were torn and their arms bore many scars from contact with the prickly mulga scrub. Their bloodshot eyes and blackened faces attested attest-ed their trying sojourn in the "never-never" country. coun-try. They dismounted on the brow of a hill, from which Coolgardie uproarious, wild, dirty, drunken drunk-en Coolgardie was visible. To them it looked like the Garden of Eden a glistening, cool oasis in a desert of desolation and despair. "I suppose I'll get merry blazes for this Cosgrove Cos-grove affair," mourned Hamilton. "Discharged . in disgrace is the best I can expect, and I may get a long term in Cockatoo Island pen." "Don't be a fool, Bill," said Douglas, impatiently. impa-tiently. "If you think you must go back, say you lost the warrant. But I think you'd better beat it. I've got a big roll In Coolgardie. I'll go in and tell the warden you played out and stopped (Continued on page 12.) THE LAND OF NEVER-NEVER (Continued from page 7.) at Kalgorolie. Then I'll meet you a few miles out and bring the bank roll. You can make the border all right, and I'll come over and meet you later. That's your best 'bet. You don't want to live in a rotten prison for the next ten or fifteen years. I'm tired of these infernal deserts anyway. Let's go to South Africa where the weather's cooler." "It listens good, Dug; but they'd hunt me tho rest of my life. I'm going back to take my medicine. I'll explain to Warden Gibson. -He's human enough to understand why I let Cosgrovo make his get-away." "You warned every man at Mount Disappointment, Disappoint-ment, Sergeant?" asked Warden Gibson. He shook hands warmly with Sergeant Hamilton. "Yes, sir," answered Hamilton. "You must have had an awful trip. Accept my compliments and congratulations for having bravely performed a difficult mission. I'm recommending rec-ommending you for promotion." Hamilton gulped. The warden turned to his desk. "Anything else, Hamilton?" he asked. "Why, yes, sir. About that Cosgrave matter. I-I-" "Oh, yes, yes," interrupted the warden. "Funny thing that, wasn't it? I forgot to tell you. Cos-grove Cos-grove found the warrant you must have lost. Ho brought it In himself. He must have crossed your trail somewhere. I let him go, though. I found on looking up the map that Skull Creek, where the blacks were killed, was beyond the murder line. And, anyhow,, I think he was justified. justi-fied. Those blacks killed Jim Kellas, Cosgrove's partner." Hamilton gulped again and turned to go. "Oh, by the way, Hamilton," Gibson called; "who was the fellow who picked you up on the edge of the Woolladdle desert, and saved you and Grant? Grant told me all about It, but he didn't know the man's name." "That fellow," stammared Hamilton. "He's a ,he's a 'he's a friend of mine. His name's Cos-grove." Cos-grove." Tho warden of Coolgardie turned his face away and smiled. Seattle Town Crier. |