THE DEMON DOG—A YARN.
Old Colonial is good at spinning yarns, and there is one of his I
should like to put in here, because it is so thoroughly descriptive of
the very first essays at pioneer-farming in this district.
One night, when we were all comfortably settled to our pipes round the
fire in our shanty, by general request, Old Colonial began as follows—
"Ah! it's a good many years since I first came up into this district,
new as it is even yet. Near as Auckland is, comparatively, the people
there know no more about us than the folks at home. I've stuck close
to the district, as I like it, and think it's as good as any in the
colony. But, you see, other people don't. New-chums, if they hear of
the Kaipara at all, learn that it's very hilly, and all bush of one
kind or another, and that frightens them; so they go south to the open
districts. And then, Government is more interested in getting settlers
elsewhere than here. People are told that there are no roads up here,
and that the Maori hold the greater part of the land. That is enough
for them, of course, and they don't come up to see for themselves. As
there is no decent map of the colony available as yet, naturally they
cannot know that what with our tidal rivers and freshwater creeks,
intersecting the district in all directions as they do, we really want
no roads, as no one will settle in the back country until the water
frontage is filled up, which will not be for many years yet. Then, our
Maoris are the best neighbours any one could wish to live among, and
are only too well pleased to sell lands and welcome new settlers.
"After all, we are just a trifle out of the way, you must allow.
Although we've got Tom's little steamer now, running regularly on the
rivers, still, communication with the city means two transhipments and
a portage, with tremendously heavy freights, unless you can charter a
cutter yourself and go all round by the open sea. So that, though we
settlers may think the Kaipara in every way desirable, there's good
reason for those who have never been in it to give their preference to
the Waikato, or Wanganui, or Canterbury.
"However, I dare say you are beginning to wonder what all this has to
do with my tale of old times. Not being a professional story-teller,
I suppose I'm not over good at shaping a yarn, especially at the
beginning, but—there's some more rum in that bottle!—if you'll have
patience I shall get into the thick of it directly.
"Well, the district being what it is in this year of grace eighteen
hundred and seventy, you may easily suppose that, sixteen years ago, it
was quite like coming into an undiscovered world to come up here. At
that time I believe that Karl was really the only settler in the entire
tract of country; and as that comprises between two and three thousand
square miles, and as there were no more Maoris then than there are now,
probably not more than a total of a thousand altogether in all the
little kainga round, it could scarcely be called a populous part of New
Zealand.
"I don't know what had tempted Karl to select up this way. Probably
accident led him into the Kaipara, and when here he saw his way to
something. There is no doubt that if things had gone straight he might
now have been one of the richest men in the province. However, things
did not go straight, and why they didn't is the subject of my tale.
"I first happened upon Karl in Auckland, sixteen years ago it is now,
as I have just told you. He was a German by race, but English by
education, and seemed to have knocked about the world a good bit. He
was a tall, powerful man, quiet and composed in general demeanour,
rather pleasant to get on with, well-informed and gentlemanly, but with
a decidedly rough and wild side to his character, which only appeared
now and then. I agreed to hire with him for a spell, and accompanied
him on his return to this district.
"A year or so previously Karl had purchased Hapuakohe on the Arapaoa
river—that is the place we went to help with the cattle at the other
day, and the best farm in the district it is now. Karl had got about
six thousand acres dirt cheap, as land goes to-day, and had settled on
it at once. Being the first purchaser from the tribe, the Maoris of
the district held him in high esteem, and a lot of the young men gave
him their labour at the start, as part of the bargain. They helped
him to get timber and build a shanty and sheds, to enclose a bit of
ground for potatoes, and so on, and to put up a stockyard. Then Karl
chartered a small vessel from the Manukau, and brought up his various
necessaries—a few head of cattle, some pigs, fowls, a dog or two, and
so forth.
"Of course he was going to commence with running cattle in the bush, as
we do at present, but a happy chance saved him from the necessity of
this, and all its attendant hard work. Some part of his place had been
in Maori occupation comparatively recently, and was only covered with
fern and ti-tree bush. The season was a very dry one, unusually so, and
Karl was able to burn off all this stuff tolerably clean. He still had
some capital left, and with that was able to buy grass seed, though at
a ruinous price in those times, and sow down his burns. By this means
he got something like a thousand acres of pasture after the rains
came—a thundering good lift, you will say, for a settler in his second
year only.
"But Karl's grass was not to be compared with what we get on our
clearings. In the first place, the land was poor, and the seed did not
take so well; then, he had sown rather scantily, so that a good deal
of fern and flax and ti-tree came up with the young grass, and made it
patchy and poor. Still, it was a great thing for these parts, where
there is no native grass, for it enabled Karl to run sheep at once.
"Of course the grass was not all in one piece. It ran in and out among
the standing bush, occupying the lower levels of ranges and the rising
grounds at the bottom of gullies, spreading altogether over a good
stretch of country. Karl got up sheep to stock it, but his capital
was exhausted; and he ran into debt both for the sheep themselves, and
with the shipper who brought them up. Not that this seemed of much
consequence, for a year or two's increase of wool and lambs would pay
off the debt and leave something in hand. But the Maori help he had
didn't last very long; and as his creditors, being poor men, pressed
him a good deal, Karl had to come into Auckland and raise money on
mortgage.
"Land was low enough in value all over the colony, at that time, and
a block up this way was not thought much of, you may be sure, so that
Karl only got enough, by mortgaging his whole six thousand acres, to
pay off his two creditors and leave him a very small balance. Well, the
prospect was good enough, as any one but a new-chum can see, but all
hung upon the sheep. There did not seem a great risk, but still there
always is a certain amount of that with sheep. Disease did not trouble
Karl much; there need be no great fear on that account in this country,
if a little care be taken. Drought, too, was no matter for anxiety, as
the land was sufficiently well-watered. But it was out of the question
to fence in the grass, so we had to take what chance there was of the
sheep straying, or of the damage wild pigs might do to the young turf,
or of dingoes.
"Ah! you may laugh, but dingoes were what we feared most then. It has
been proved by this time that if ever dingoes or runaway curs did
exist, they are practically a myth, as far as this part of the island
is concerned. Still, that was not so sure in those days, and the
suspicion that they were in the bush was always a source of trouble
to sheep farmers. The pigs' ravages we could check by a thorough hunt
once or twice a year; and there was not much to fear from the sheep's
straying, as, except one or two particular breeds, they will not go
far into the bush or away from the grass. But the wild dogs were a
different matter, if they came, and no one could be quite sure that any
night might not find them among the flock.
"Such was the position of affairs when I came to live with Karl. Stop!
I am forgetting one circumstance, the most important, in fact; for,
if it had not been for her, I don't believe Karl would have cared so
much about his farm. He was just the sort of man who is perfectly
indifferent to ruin if it comes, so far as he himself is concerned; but
she made his views of the future entirely of another colour.
"When loitering about Auckland, while he was getting his mortgage
arranged, Karl got introduced to one or two families. He was not what
you would term a society man, but, for all that, he managed to make
up to a certain young lady he met. They fell in love with one another
and got engaged, with all the usual rapidity of such affairs out here.
There was even some talk of an immediate marriage, but the lady's
father would not hear of that when he came to know Karl's position.
He did not oppose the match in any way, but only stipulated for its
postponement until Karl should have paid off his mortgage, and built a
house more suitable for a family man than his then existing shanty. So
Karl, inflamed with as violent a passion as I ever saw in any man, had
to wait, three years as he calculated, until he was in a really proper
condition to marry. This was a tremendous incentive to him to go ahead
with vigour.
"When Karl returned to the bush I came with him, and took up my
residence as one of the party at Hapuakohe. Besides myself Karl had
one other chum, and there were two Maori boys who were generally on
the farm, and who gave a good deal of labour in exchange for somewhat
indefinite wages. They were yet unsophisticated in those days, and were
not so fully aware of the pecuniary value of their own labour and time
as they are now. Of course our work was hard and continuous. Looking
after the sheep, especially at lambing time, and shearing them when the
season came round, was the principal item. Then there was occasionally
some job or other with the little herd: half a dozen cows, a bull, and
a few young beasts, who roamed over bush and grass as they pleased,
and had to be got up sometimes, or some trifling dairy work done. Then
there were the usual garden crops, and the pigs to be seen to. Besides
this, one of us had to row and sail the whole fifty miles down to
Helensville every now and then, since there was no nearer place then
where we could have obtained our stores.
"Nearly six months of the year we were hard at work falling bush and
making new grassed clearings. We made no attempt at fencing, for
Karl considered that the acquisition of more grass for his rapidly
increasing flock was of paramount importance. Getting material, and
fencing the Hapuakohe grass in, would indeed have been a stupendous
task for our three pairs of hands to undertake, owing to the straggling
character of the cleared land, and the consequent extent of the lines
of fence required; moreover, there was no real necessity for it on a
mere sheep-walk. The sheep would not stray very much, and, as Karl
said, the only other reason was the dingoes, and no fence we could
construct would have kept them out. But Karl had made great inquiries
in Auckland, and from the natives, about these alleged wild dogs. He
had not only been unable to find any one who had ever seen one, but
even any one who knew any other person that had. So we almost succeeded
in banishing the thought of them from our minds.
"Thus a couple of years passed away, and Karl's wool sales enabled him
to bank a small instalment towards paying off his mortgage. However, it
was evident that more than another year must elapse before he was in a
position to marry, for the wages paid to the other man and I, together
with current expenses, cost of more grass seed, and so forth, ate into
the realized sum very deeply. On the other hand, the large annual
increase of the flock would make the returns of each succeeding year
very much greater. But I must tell you of our other chum, since it was
about this time that Karl killed him.
"Ah! I thought that would startle you and fix your attention. Yes,
there's a murder in my tale, coming presently. Listen!
"Brail, his name was; the only name I ever knew him by. He was a short,
thickset man, a beggar to work, no matter what he was at. He professed
to be English, but there was evidently some foreign blood in him, for
his skin was darker than ours. His black bristling beard came up nearly
to his eyes, and gave him a formidably ferocious look. He was reserved
and silent, though civil enough to me in a general way. I gathered
little by little, and at various times, that there was a bond of old
standing between Karl and this man. Though he was a paid labourer, just
as I was myself, yet it seemed that they had known one another for
years. It could hardly be friendship as that is ordinarily understood;
for Brail was a disagreeable companion at the best of times, and he and
Karl were for ever snapping and snarling at each other. I concluded
that the latent savagery which was in each, though differently
manifested, formed a sort of tie between them.
"This Brail had a sullen hang-dog expression, and, at times, a
fierce gleam in his scowling eyes that I did not like. Neither did
Tama-te-Whiti, the old Maori chief, who was my very good friend in
those days, as he has ever remained since. Tama used to visit Hapuakohe
sometimes, and I well recollect his aversion for Brail. After speaking
with him, Tama would often turn to me with an expression of profound
contempt, and hiss out, 'kakino tangata!' I never really knew anything
of the former relations of Karl and this man. I formed a theory from
various little things that reached me, which may be true or may not.
I imagine that Brail had been a convict, possibly a runaway and
bushranger in Australia; that Karl, induced by some old-time regard
for him, had aided him to escape to New Zealand, and had found him an
asylum with himself. Something like this seems probable.
"Brail possessed a dog, which I must specially mention. It was one of
those big yellow, shaggy-haired curs that are of the original Maori
breed. This beast was trained into a very fair sheep-dog, and did its
work along with the colleys belonging to the farm. It was the one thing
upon earth that Brail seemed really to love, but even in this he showed
his half-barbarous nature; for he would sometimes beat and kick the
poor cur in the most brutal way, and again would caress and fondle it
like a child. Whatever he did to it the dog never left him. It could
scarcely be called obedient, but night or day, waking or sleeping, it
never left its master. The animal was intelligent enough, and had that
curious likeness to Brail that one may notice a dog often gets for its
master. But he prided himself that the dog had some tincture of human
nature in it. He had bought it, when a year old, from a Maori woman,
at the price of two plugs of tobacco; and it seems that this woman had
suckled the whelp herself, in its early infancy, having lost a new-born
child of her own. You know that this peculiar custom of giving suck to
young puppies is not an uncommon thing among Maori women. Brail's dog,
as you will see by-and-by, had certainly acquired some super-canine
qualities, but whether from its human foster-mother or from the
teachings of its master, I cannot tell.
"Karl was indifferent to the beast. He was a hard man, and a rough
one with all animals. He had no love or tenderness for them; nor did
they show attachment to him. His own dogs obeyed him as their master,
but did not love him as their friend. He cherished his sheep, looking
on them as valuable property, without any feeling for them as living
things. It is a character common in the bush. And this made a frequent
cause for squabbles between him and Brail. Not that Brail cared for
animals a bit more than Karl did, in a general way; only for that
yellow dog of his. Though he often ill-treated it himself, it made him
savage to see any one else do so; and Karl rarely came near it without
a kick or a blow, more to tease Brail, I think, than for any other
reason.
"All this time Karl used to make excursions down to Auckland as often
as he could, to see his lady-love. He was getting more and more hopeful
about his prospects; and would frequently talk about them to me, and
about her also. But he never spoke on these topics before Brail; and I
could see that he began to have thoughts of getting rid of the coarse,
ill-mannered, foul-tongued ruffian, before he brought his bride up to
the place. As it was, Brail rarely left the run. When he did go down to
Helensville, or across to Whangarei, he invariably indulged in heavy
drinking at the stores. He would fight and brawl with any sawyers or
gum-diggers that might be hanging about; so that 'Karl's black devil
of a chum' was no welcome sight at either settlement. And Karl was
becoming more fastidious, as intercourse with his betrothed refined and
softened his character.
"One day Karl, in entering the shanty, stumbled over the great carcase
of the yellow dog, as it lay stretched out upon the floor. He kicked it
savagely, and the brute turned and snapped at his leg; though his tall
boots prevented the bite from doing him any harm. However, Karl, being
enraged, seized an axe or something that was standing near and made a
blow at the cur. But Brail rushed forward and seized his arm, and with
one of his usual oaths growled out—
"'Can't you leave that dog alone? I tell you there'll be a row one of
these times!'
"The two glared at one another silently for a moment, and then Karl,
still heated, threw down the axe and, laughing lightly, said—
"'Oh no, there won't; because I'm going to give up both you and the
cur!'
"'What?' cried Brail, and his teeth set, while an ashen pallor
overspread his face, and his eyes seemed drawn in under his heavy
lowering brows.
"Karl looked at him, and then seemed vexed, as though he had said
something more than he intended.
"'There,' he said hastily, 'don't put yourself out. I merely meant that
you'd better look for work somewhere else soon, as I intend altering
things a bit.'
"'Oh, that's all, is it?' returned Brail, looking relieved. 'It's
well it is all you meant, you know!' and with that he went out. Karl
followed him, and some more passed between them that I did not catch.
But there was a wicked look about Brail that I did not admire.
"Nothing further came of the incident; both men seemed to have
forgotten it when next they met. Only a day or two after, as we were
working together, Brail addressed a series of rather curious remarks
to me. It never struck me at the time, but afterwards I thought he
must have been trying to find out whether Karl had told me anything of
his—Brail's—past history. I did not know anything of it then, and so
Brail seemed satisfied.
"It was a custom of ours for one or two to camp out sometimes, when
working on a distant part of the farm, so as to save two or three
miles tramp backwards and forwards every morning and evening. So, after
this, Brail built himself a hut in a little gully some three miles
distant from the shanty. There were some lambing ewes lying on the
grass in that direction, and Brail had to watch these, while falling
bush on one side of the gully at the same time. So he moved up to his
hut, carrying his necessaries along with him, and accompanied by his
dog.
"Perhaps a fortnight after Brail had been camping up there, I was
milking some of the cows near the shanty towards evening. While so
occupied, I heard Karl's coo-ee from the direction of Brail's camp,
where I knew he had gone. I answered, and presently the signal—three
short quick coo-ees—informed me I had to go to him at once. I coo-ee'd
the answer that I was coming, finished my milking, took the cans into
the shanty, and set out. I ran up along the range, and had got more
than half-way towards Brail's clearing before I saw anything of Karl. I
was in an ill temper at having to go so far, being tired with the day's
work, and so it never struck me that anything might be wrong.
"Presently I saw Karl sitting on a log, and as I made towards him,
he rose and walked to me. I noticed there was blood on his shirt and
pants, but that simply made me conclude that he had killed a sheep,
and that I was summoned to help carry the mutton home before the flies
could get to it. I merely said crossly—
"'Well, where is it?'
"Karl pointed towards Brail's camp without speaking, and we both walked
on. Presently he spoke, in such hoarse, shaky tones, that I turned and
looked closely at him. There was trouble and distress in his face of an
unusual sort.
"'Old man,' he said, 'you'll stand by me, won't you?'
"'Of course,' I answered.
"'Are Wi and Tara back?' he asked then, meaning our two Maori boys, who
had been away at their own village for several days. I replied in the
negative, whereat he responded with a fervent 'Thank God!'
"'What's up?' I ejaculated in wonder.
"'I've killed Brail!' he whispered hoarsely.
"'Good God!' I cried. 'What do you mean, Karl?' and I sat down
involuntarily; for the announcement came almost like a blow. He stood
beside me, evidently deeply agitated.
"'Look here, old man! You're a true chum, I know. You'll keep this
matter dark, for my sake—for _her_ sake, rather. See here, I swear to
you it was justifiable—nay, it was accident!'
"I simply nodded. He went on—
"'I went down to where he was at work without a thought of this; that
I swear before Almighty God. Then that beast of his, that damned dog,
flew at me. I raised my axe to strike at it. He came forward with that
fierce rage on him that you may have noticed sometimes. I heard him
grind his teeth and hiss between them, "You will have it then; you! the
only man who knows my secret, b—— you!" And then he rushed at me with
his knife in hand. I hardly know how it happened. I struck at him with
the axe, meaning to knock the knife out of his hand. That was all I had
in my mind, I take God as my witness—it was all. But somehow, I know
not how, the axe caught him on the head. It was sharp, it was heavy; it
cut through the bone as through the rind of a gourd. He fell—dead!'
"Karl spoke in hoarse, hurried, spasmodic tones. He wrung my hand in
his, and looked beseechingly into my eyes.
"'Old man, you and I can share this—secret! You know me; you know I
would not lie to you, not even for my life. You can believe the truth
as I have told it you.'
"I waved his hand away, then took and wrung it hard. There was no need
for more. I knew the man, I knew what he wanted of me. I understood at
once. It was not fear for himself, it was for her, his wife that was
to be. He had little cause to fear, indeed, for, with such evidence as
I must perforce have given, no jury would have convicted him of more
than manslaughter. But, why make the matter public at all? No one knew
of it, except us two. No one need know of it. The shock of such a thing
would be terrible for the innocent girl he hoped to marry. It might,
probably would, break off the match.
"All this flashed across my mind. I had been in wild, lawless
countries; I had seen many a violent death; it was no new and terrible
thing to me. Boys! what would you have done? I liked Karl; I loved him,
I think. We were friends; and the dead man I had detested. I believed
every word he had said, as I believe it still. What need for more?
Should I be the one to destroy all his future hopes, just for the sake
of blurting about this miserable affair, to serve no particular end
that I could see? No!
"I put my hands on poor Karl's shoulders, and looked him steadily in
the face.
"'Come,' I said, 'let us put this thing out of sight, and—forget it.'
"He grasped my hands in his, while the tears that welled from his eyes
betrayed the depth and extent of his feelings. Then we went to where
the body lay. I fetched a spade from the hut, and, under the shadow of
some stretching fern-trees, in a secluded nook deep in the heart of a
bit of bush that neither axe nor fire was ever likely to touch, we dug
Brail's grave.
"We scarcely spoke at all. There was no need for words, for each
of us understood the other so well. When I stripped the body bare,
preparatory to laying it in its final resting-place, Karl simply
nodded. He knew, without my telling him, why I did so. He comprehended
that, in after time, if those bones were ever laid bare, there would
be no vestiges of clothes or tell-tale buttons to give a clue to the
remains. It might be supposed, in such a case, they were those of some
slain warrior of Ngatewhatua or Ngapuhi.
"And then we gathered together every fragment of the dead man's
property, and laid the things in his hut, and heaped up dead wood and
dry brush, and set fire to the pile, and watched the bonfire blaze to
ashes. And we scattered the ashes in a raupo swamp, and quietly went
home.
"Anxious we were for some time after, but there was little reason for
us to be so. The Maoris knew that Brail had intended leaving, and
were not surprised when we said he had gone. I myself had conveyed
a message from him to the storekeeper at Helensville, stating that
he was looking for another job. What easier than to tell them there
that he had swagged it through the bush to the east coast settlements?
What simpler than to answer inquiries for him in that direction, by
saying he had gone south? But no one ever cared to make close inquiry
after him. The few who knew him did not like him. Poor wretch! ruffian
as he was, I felt some pity for him; he, lying buried in the bush,
friendless, unloved except by a dog as unlovable as he had been himself.
"As regards that dog, Karl had told me he had killed it, though he
seemed somewhat confused about the matter when I thought of it and
questioned him. He said that, after he had struck down Brail, his mind
was so overwhelmed with the sudden horror of the affair, that he only
faintly recollected what followed immediately. He fancied the dog
attacked him; at any rate, he was sure he had chopped at it or stabbed
it with his knife, and he distinctly remembered throwing its dead
carcase to one side. So the matter was dismissed, it being merely a
passing matter of surprise to me that I had not noticed the dog's body
at the time. Yet I felt no call to go and look for it subsequently.
"Months flew by, and the thought of the unlucky affair was becoming
less and less burdensome to us. Shearing time had come and gone, and
the Maoris and one or two men from the settlements, who had come up to
help us with it, had departed. Karl went down to Auckland in the cutter
he had chartered to transfer the season's wool there. It would be the
first time he had seen his betrothed since Brail's death. Ever since
then he had been moody and depressed in spirits, melancholy and unlike
himself. But the soft feminine influence had a vast soothing power over
his mind, and he returned to Hapuakohe cheerful and happy. Care seemed
no longer to weigh him down.
"Indeed, the prospect was brightening considerably for him. Wool was up
in price; and Karl had not only paid the interest on his mortgage, but
had now a good sum in bank towards paying off the principal. There were
now between two and three thousand sheep on his clearings, and, barring
accidents, another year ought to see him a free man and able to marry.
I, too, participated in the good fortune that seemed to be with us, for
I each year took the bulk of my wages in sheep, continuing them on the
run with Karl's, on the usual system of half gains half risk.
"Karl was never weary of talking to me of his future wife; about his
love for her, and hers for him; and we even ventured on castle-building
by the fireside of nights. The new house was planned, its site fixed
on, and the cost of it reckoned up. All the free happy life that was to
be we talked over in pleasant anticipation. I was to get a place of my
own and marry, too. But there! You know the sort of talk when times are
good.
"One night we were sleeping as usual, in our bunks on opposite sides of
the shanty. The fire was out, but the moon shone brightly through many
a chink and crevice in the walls and roof. Suddenly I was awakened by a
terrific scream from my chum. Hastily throwing off my blanket, I leapt
out of the bunk and looked across at him. He was standing in the centre
of the floor, the sweat pouring from his face and chest, his hair wet
with it, his eyes starting, and his whole form shaking so that he could
hardly keep erect.
"'Karl!' I cried, 'for Heaven's sake, what is it?'
"My voice seemed to bring him to himself, and, after I had got him a
drink of cold tea, he became calmer, and was able to talk.
"'My God! I've had a fearful dream!' he said.
"'A nightmare, I suppose?' responded I.
"'I don't know,' he returned; 'it was something more frightful than I
ever experienced before. So horribly real, too.'
"After a while he continued—
"'I thought that Brail stood before me, just as he did that day when
I—when I—killed him. His face had a detestably evil look, and he
menaced me with his hands. I seemed to hear him say, "My vengeance
is to come!" Then his form gradually changed into that of his big
yellow dog, with fangs like a dragon's, and eyes that burnt horribly.
It seemed to take the shape of a devil's face, springing at me out
of hell, and I heard a confused sound of "Blood for blood!" Then the
horror of it forced me to scream and awake.'
"Of course I affected to laugh at Karl's dream; one always does
that with the victims of nightmare, I'm sure I don't know why, for
there's nothing laughable about such things when you come to think
of it. However, I discoursed in light fashion about the effects of
imagination, disordered stomachs, and heavy suppers, though I saw all
that I said had no particular effect on his mind. By-and-by we turned
in again, and I slept till morning without further disturbance.
"When morning came I found that the dream still weighed heavily on
Karl's spirits. He seemed to be possessed of the idea that it 'meant
something,' though precisely what he could not say. He was downhearted
and anxious, and his thoughts naturally turned to the sheep. They
meant so much to him, poor fellow! He proposed that we should both make
a thorough tour of the run, and asked me to catch a couple of horses
that we might the better do so. For we had a few 'scrubbers' about the
place, finding them necessary as economizing our time and strength in
getting about the extensive farm.
"We set off after breakfast, Karl riding along the top of the range and
I along the bottom, with the dogs following us as of course. The first
gully, the same in which the shanty stood, had nothing to show us. The
sheep on the clearings in it were feeding about as usual. But when we
crossed over the range, and came in view of the wide basin on the other
side, where was nearly five hundred acres of grass, we were surprised
to find no sheep at all visible. We traversed it in all directions,
sending the dogs round all the standing bush, and then we crossed the
further range into a gully where a narrow strip of pasture extended
for some two miles. As we came out of a piece of bush into this, we
perceived the sheep. They were not feeding about in scattered groups,
as was usual, but were collected in one flock, huddled up together.
Some were lying down, panting, and all looked distressed and scared. It
was easy to see they had been driven, and that quite recently.
"Karl galloped down the slope immediately, but I reined in for a
moment, looking to see if anything was visible to account for this.
Then a shout from Karl made me hasten to join him. He had dismounted,
and was kneeling beside a ewe that lay prostrate on the hill-side. As
I came up he looked at me with a terrible despair in his eyes, and,
pointing to the sheep, said quietly—
"'That is what my dream meant. Look!'
"I jumped down and examined the ewe. It was dead; and the mangled
throat and torn wool plainly told the cause.
"'Wild dogs!' I ejaculated with a bitter curse.
"We remounted and rode slowly about the clearings, narrowly observing
the condition of the flocks. We found seven-and-thirty sheep dead or
dying, the work of the dog or dogs on the previous night. A good many
more were apparently injured from the driving. We made every possible
search for the beasts that had done this, but not a trace of them was
discoverable.
"Karl seemed overwhelmed by the disaster. A dark superstition seemed
to have come over him, and to its influence he despairingly succumbed.
Notwithstanding that, however, the innate courage of the man impelled
him, now and to the end, to strive with every nerve against the evil
fate that was pursuing him. Though he despaired from the first,
unnecessarily, as I thought, he was not the sort of man to sit still
with his hands in his pockets. No, he would fight to the last. We
discussed what was possible to be done that day as we surveyed the
slaughtered sheep. Karl croaked gloomily—
"'There is little use doing anything, however. There is the hand of
God, or of the devil, I know not which, in this. It is a judgment on
me—come from Brail's grave. Through a dog I came to kill him, by a dog
his vengeance comes upon me!'
"'Bosh!' said I, 'you are letting that nightmare of yours ferment in
your mind. What we've got to do is not to go fancying a pack of nursery
tales, but to set about exterminating these brutes before they do more
damage.'
"And then a thought struck me. I continued—
"'By the way, you're quite sure you killed that yellow dog?'
"'Certain,' was his emphatic reply.
"I took occasion, as we were riding near the place, to go and make
a thorough search for the skeleton of the dog. I could not find it,
however, though the thick undergrowth about there might certainly
have hidden it all the while. But this satisfied me; I took up an
unreasoning notion that Brail's beast was the sheep-killer, though I
could not attempt to account for why it had never been seen by us, if
it were still living. I thought Karl might easily have been mistaken
in his agitation, in thinking he had killed it; though why it should
have disappeared for nearly a year, and then suddenly and mysteriously
started on a career of crime, was beyond me. Perhaps it had gone mad in
solitude; perhaps Brail's idea of its possessing half-human attributes
by right of its peculiar nurture, might have something in it. The dog
might have learnt a species of rascally cunning from its master. I did
not know; I do not now. Doubtless these thoughts did not all enter my
mind at that time, but have matured since. There is a weird and uncanny
feature in the whole thing that I cannot explain. I simply relate the
facts as I know them, without trying to explain the unexplainable."
* * * * *
Here, Old Colonial paused, and lit his pipe meditatively. We, knowing
his hatred of interruptions, said nothing, and presently he took up the
thread of his yarn again.
* * * * *
"So we drove the sheep that night upon the clearings in the home gully,
and kept watch over them. But we knew we could not keep them there
long, because of their number, and the scantiness of the feed at that
season. Next day, Karl proceeded to lay poisoned meat about the run;
while I rowed up the river to Tama-te-Whiti's kainga. I told the news
to the Maoris, and Tama, with a score of his men, accompanied me back
to Hapuakohe.
"We feasted the Maoris that night upon the slaughtered mutton, and held
a great talk upon what should be done. In the morning we sallied forth
to commence a systematic hunt through the surrounding bush, the natives
being delighted to engage in this, especially as there was a prospect,
unfortunately, of unlimited fresh mutton. To our horror, we found that
the enemy had been at work again on the preceding night, and many more
sheep were killed and crippled. This gave us a fresh impulse, and we
went at the hunt with a will. Separating into four parties, under the
respective leadership of Karl, Tama, myself, and another Maori, we
mapped out the country before us to be carefully traversed. Every piece
of bush, every swamp and possible shelter that lay in our way did we
thoroughly beat. The clearings were examined, the dead sheep looked
to, and every attempt was made to find traces of the dingoes; but when
night brought the day's work to a close, we had all been entirely
unsuccessful. Not the smallest trace of the wild dogs had been seen;
only some of the bush-pigs had been found and a few killed incidentally.
"It is needless for me to continue in detail. For nearly a fortnight
after, the same complete want of success persevered with us. In vain
we scoured the bush far and wide by day, in vain we lay out watching
all night, in vain we had recourse to every stratagem that our united
cunning could devise. The result was always the same. Nothing rewarded
our almost frantic efforts. And almost every night, under our very
noses so to speak, frightful ravages were committed among the flocks.
"There was something so strange and uncommon about these night attacks,
something so weird in our inability to obtain even a glimpse of the
perpetrators, that the superstitious fancies of the Maoris began to
come into play. I was getting nervous about Karl, for he was gloomy
and abstracted, as well he might be, poor man! I alone knew he was
imagining things and regarding himself as the victim of a dead man's
vengeance. I knew that each fresh loss among the sheep went to his
heart like a knife, for it seemed to divide him further from wedded
happiness. Despair appeared to weigh him down more and more heavily. I
began to fear for his reason.
"The intelligence of our misfortune was spreading through the country.
Our Maori friends had augmented in number, coming from Tanoa and
Matakohe and all round. The cordial kindness and brotherhood of the
bush rushed in sympathy towards us. From Helensville came a boat-load
of such necessaries as it was thought we should stand most in need
of, with word to say that men would follow. The rough bushmen on the
Wairoa sent to say they would come to our assistance if we needed them.
The generous settlers of Whangarei sent word that they were coming
in a body, to help us hunt down the dingoes, or to put up fences and
pens for us, that Karl might pay for when he could, or not, it did not
matter.
"All this simple self-sacrificing kindness touched us deeply, but it
failed to rouse my poor chum's spirits.
"'It is no use,' he murmured. 'I am doomed to ruin. A third of the
flock is gone already. The rest will follow. _She_ can never be mine
now.'
"'Stuff!' I replied to him. 'Rouse yourself, man. Do not despair yet.
Come, we have work to do. Let us first of all settle these damnation
curs!'
"'I am with you there! I am with you there!' he answered, his eyes
glittering fiercely, as he rose and grasped his gun.
"Then came a night I remember well. I lay with Tama and some five or
six Maoris in the bush on the top of a range, that overlooked a wide
stretch of grass in the gullies on either side below us. The night was
balmy and moonlit, for it was near Christmas time, and I was wearied,
so I slept. Around us in the distance sparkled the camp-fires of the
other watchers. Presently I was roused by Tama, who, in an excited
whisper, bade me listen. I peered forth from the edge of the jungle,
and could hear a low, dull, rushing sound. I knew what that meant.
It was a large flock of sheep, running hard. In a moment they came
into view out of the shadows, heading straight for where we crouched,
plainly visible in the flood of moonlight that streamed upon the open
side of the range. I could hear the quick breathing of the Maoris
beside me, as I leant forward keenly intent upon the flock, my gun
ready in my hands. I watched the flock as it streamed rapidly along the
hill-side, and saw that here and there, in its track behind, lay single
sheep, crippled by stumps or holes in the ground, or, as I knew by
experience, with mangled throats that spoke of the fangs of murderous
brutes. We waited and watched, the moonlight gleaming on the barrels of
our ready guns. The flock passed close below us, tearing along in the
utmost extremity of panic. And our levelled weapons were ready.
"As I am a sinful sinner, what I tell you is the plain unvarnished
truth. As the flock passed below our eyes, we saw no beast of any kind
but sheep. No dog was visible there, that I could swear to. And yet,
close before us, a fine fat wether suddenly leapt up and dropped, so
near that we could see the fresh blood spurting from a wound in its
throat. I rushed out upon the clearing and looked at it; I looked after
the vanishing flock and all around me, but no sign of the destroyer
could I see. A horrible thrill passed all through me, for this was
something mysterious, unnatural, and unnerving. I could not resist the
sudden shivery feeling that crept over me at this most unaccountable
occurrence.
"And then, from close beside me, rose Tama's shrill coo-ee. Louder and
louder it rang out into the still night, till answers came pealing
from the camps on the ranges around us. After a little we saw the
other watchers coming to us from their various posts on the run, until
presently all were collected together, a silent wondering group—a
hundred Maoris, and Karl and I. Then Tama spoke. What he said I do
not know. It was some vague relation of what we had seen, together
with frequent references to the 'tahipo'—devil—and some 'kararehe
tahipo'—demon dog. But the wild excitement of the chief, the deadly
terror that possessed him, soon infected all the others. They gathered
round him in an eager cluster, and the deep 'Ai,' and 'kuia' that broke
from one and another, testified their earnest attention and concurrence.
"Then they knelt down, there on the grass around the dead wether. It
was a curious group we made in the moonlight on the hill-side, just
beyond the shadows of the bush. And Tama lifted up his voice—literally
so—and prayed. He prayed through the Lord's Prayer, and the Creed,
and through half the questions and answers of the Catechism beside.
Being agitated, no doubt, he scarcely knew exactly what he was saying.
And then it seemed to me, as well as I could follow the Maori, that he
indulged in an extempore delivery, half prayer, half incantation, to
meet the special requirements of the case.
"When this performance, so grotesque yet so simply serious, was over,
these half-savage Christians rose and began to take leave of us. They
could not stay to fight devils, they said; God and his angels could
alone do that, and they had prayed that it might be so. Many blubbered
as they shook hands with us; they would have willingly fought for us
with anything of flesh and blood, but terror of the unseen had now
overmastered their sympathy. They hurried away over the range and down
to the beach where their canoes lay, and so, flying from haunted
Hapuakohe, they left us two alone.
"All this could not fail to have its effect on one's mind. I felt
very uncomfortable, but Karl seemed to take everything as though he
had expected it. When daylight came, and I was able to reason more
calmly about the mystery, I thought I saw a possible solution. It was
evident there could not be several dogs, or we must have seen them,
or traces of them. Probably there was only one, for, great as was the
havoc that had been wrought, I did not think it was impossible for a
single ferocious beast to have caused it. And then I reflected that a
dog might look so like a sheep in the moonlight, as not to be readily
detected among a flock. Why, I remembered that a shaggy, grayish-yellow
cur, such as Brail's dog had been, for instance, was positively
indistinguishable amid a flock of sheep at night, especially when the
moon was shining. But the extraordinary cunning and careful scheming
that seemed apparent in this case were, I confess, beyond my powers to
fathom; nor have I been able to account for them to this day.
"We did what we could, we two, while we waited for the promised help
from the settlements. You might think we could have shepherded the
flock near the shanty, and guarded them with our dogs; but that we
had found to be impossible. First, grass was scarce there, and we had,
of course, no other feed to give them. Then, they had got so wild with
the constant chasing, that we must have been continually worrying them
with our own dogs, which would only have made matters worse. There was
literally nothing to be done, but to watch for and kill the dingo.
"Oh! it was a piteous sight to see the dead sheep lying scattered
about the clearings. And among the survivors there were so many hurt
that must die, so many more that were injured so as to be practically
valueless; for the chasing on the rough, stump-covered hill-sides had
done more damage than the actual fangs of the wild dog. I was myself
a sufferer, but my loss was as nothing to poor Karl's. He, I saw, was
ruined, if not irretrievably, at least for some years to come. But this
made his marriage impossible now, unless the lady's parents took a very
different view of things. Surely, I thought, the news must by this time
have got to Auckland. Perhaps the father had already resolved to break
off the match in consequence. I was only a plain, simple bush-farmer,
and it seemed to me that if this girl were true in her love for Karl,
she would certainly leave her father and come to him in his trouble. I
thought I would myself write and tell her to do so, for, you see, I
feared that he would go melancholy mad for loss of her. But the end of
it was come."
* * * * *
Again Old Colonial paused, and gazed intently into the fire, with a
sad, grave expression shadowing over his usually jolly, sunburnt face.
* * * * *
"I left my camp one morning and strolled across the run to the place
where Karl had been watching. He had selected the top of a steep
bluff that jutted out into the river and that, on the landward side,
overlooked a great extent of the run. As I climbed up the range I
shouted to him repeatedly, but, as there was no answer, I concluded
he was sleeping, and so walked quietly on till I came out on the top.
There were the smouldering remains of his fire, the billy in which
he had boiled his tea, his blanket lying as he had left it, but Karl
himself was not there. I shouted again and looked about me, and then
something made me start.
"It was his gun lying on the ground. I picked it up, and saw that it
had been discharged. There was blood upon the stock, and stuck to
the hammer was a wisp of coarse yellow hair. Amazed, and filled with
a sudden cold sensation of fear, I examined the ground about me. I
saw grass and bushes trampled and broken as though there had been a
struggle on the spot. I saw splashes and blots of blood here, there,
and everywhere. And then something prompted me to look over the cliff.
What I saw nearly caused me to fall, so horribly did my heart leap in
my throat. Down below there, on the cruel rocks, head downwards on the
beach, lay his body. Dead he was, you could see that from the top. Poor
Karl!
"I rushed down through the gully on the left, and made my way to where
he lay. His head was broken by the fall, but there were horrible wounds
besides upon his throat and limbs, gaping, torn, and deep, too plainly
the marks of some fierce beast's teeth. And as I knelt beside the body,
weeping, stupified, agonized by the horror of the thing, a fancy crept
into my poor brains that I had been a witness of that scene upon the
bluff the night before; when nought but the moon was there to see, with
the creek singing through the bush in the gully, and the river-tide
sweeping along below.
"I fancied I saw him sitting moody and despairing by the fire. And up
through the thick jungle of the gully comes stealing the great yellow
body of that dreadful brute, that devilish cur that had first ruined
him and now meant to kill him. I saw it spring upon him as he sat, with
fangs gleaming and savage eyes of fire. I saw the flash of his gun,
the swinging blow, the curse of the man, and the growl of the dog. I
could fancy the ferocious joy upon the face of the half-maddened man as
he grappled with his foe. I saw the hard, fierce struggle—glistening
teeth opposed to flashing steel. And then I saw him conquer, but—only
to seize the ponderous brute, to hurl it from the cliff far into the
river, and, staggering, wounded to the death, overbalancing, to fall
headlong himself.
"I was roused from this dream by the trampling of horses' feet. It
was the men from Whangarei—kind, cheery, sympathetic souls. They had
ridden all the way—all the fifty miles along the Maori track through
the forest. Poor as they were, they had put aside their own concerns,
and had come over to help us in our trouble.
"But they were too late—too late! except to help me lay my poor dead
chum to rest.
* * * * *
"Ah! you guess now who the lady is that was our hostess at Hapuakohe
the other day. Karl bequeathed to her, as a matter of course, all he
had to leave. But she knows only a small part of what I have been
telling you. There are portions of the tale that neither she nor her
husband know aught of. You can guess what they are. Never hint at
this story in their presence, or in that of their children. I know I
can rely on your silence. Moreover, there is nothing to give rise to
mention of it, for no sheep-worrying wild-dogs, or dingoes, have ever
been heard of in the Kaipara since the day that Karl died.
"When we were over there, I took the opportunity of visiting the place
where I laid him, long, long ago, as it seems to me now. A thicket of
ferns hides all traces of the grave, and the wooden cross that marked
it has fallen and decayed among them.
"What matter! He is at rest. And the kind trees that shadow round
him scatter the golden kowhai bells and crimson pohutukawa blossoms
upon his mossy coverlet. The tide flows at his feet, risping over the
oyster-beds, swirling among the mangroves, hurrying to the distant
sea; just as it did on that night so long ago, when it bore with it
away through the moonlit forest—away in secret and unfathomable
mystery—the accursed carcase of the Demon Dog."