"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 passing 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 God." 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."
FINIS
