“James Anderson and Charles Helm were lost on the 20th October. They
have gone S.E. from the salt-pan. Will you kindly send word to Mrs.
Helm, The Esplanade, St. Kilda, and to Miss Drysdale, Gipps Street, East
Melbourne.”
Then he wrote his name, “Charles Helm.”
It seemed so feeble, so inadequate, not a hundreth part of what he felt
did it express, and yet what could he say? Not even in his extremity
could he write tender messages to his loved ones there. They would know,
surely they would know, they would understand, that his thoughts had
been full of them when he wrote that cold message. What more could he
say? But would they ever know the love and longing that had filled his
heart? Would his mother ever know that her boy had thought of her at the
last? Would Mabel Drysdale understand how he had cared for her?--all he
had meant to convey by the mere mention of her name? He stepped slowly
back and wakened his companion.
“Mate,” he said, “don’t you think we’d better be travelling? It’s a
little cooler now, and it ‘s getting late.”
Anderson struggled to his feet wearily and then went down to the
salt-pan.
“So you ‘ve been leaving a last message,” he said; “I ‘m afraid it’s not
much good. Who ‘s likely to pass this way?”
“It’s only a chance, of course,” said Helm, “but--well--I ‘d like them,
if possible, to know I ‘d thought of them.”
“And a woman, too,” laughed Anderson cynically, “if we get out of this
you ‘ll learn, I expect, just about how little value she sets on your
care for her.”
“You ‘ve been unlucky,” said the younger man gently; “there are women
who--but there, I don’t suppose we’ll come through. Anyhow, it’s time we
started.
“Well--well, keep your faith and I’ll keep mine. Perhaps here and
there, there may be a woman worth caring about, but they ‘re few and far
between.”
“Don’t you want to say anything?” asked Helm.
“Who? I? No. Who is there to care a straw whether I leave my carcase
to the crows or not? There’s only the boy, and he’s too young to
understand. But, I say, you might have mentioned the name of the
station,” and taking the stick from Helm’s hand, he walked out on the
salt and wrote;