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The Sawmiller.

(Continued from page 39.) sheets to you. The timber is required to be shipped with the next scow load and to be marked with white paint.”

Desmond looked at the order sheets.

“All first-class totara and matai flooring. We use four colours. White for first-class, blue, rough heart, red, second class, black, shakey.”

“I know the marks quite well, for my father handles all the timber from here and I worked in his yard for some time,” replied Lynn.

“So you are not a new chum at yard work, Mr. Kingswell?”

“Just know enough to be of some use to you if you get jammed. I had no idea that you kept such a lot of timber in stock.”

“It takes a good while to season,” replied Desmond. “This order is for 15,000 feet of first-class, and with other orders for the same quality, will reach 25,000 feet to ship. The second-class has got to dry also, so there must be close on a million feet in the yard.”

“Are you not afraid of fire?” asked Lynn.

“Of course there is always a danger, but since Mr. Kay had the water laid on, every row of stacks has one or two connections with a good length of hose, so we don't worry so much. There is also a night watchman.”

“Have you many hands in the yard?” asked Lynn.

“About 33. Good men, too, with the exception of one or two who came on about six weeks ago. The latter are rough-looking and don't get on with their mates.”

“It's very good of you, Desmond, to explain things to me. A fellow—a new hand, too—won't feel such a fool. I must go now, else Mr. Jasper will think I'm lost.”

“My little office is just over there,’ replied Desmond. “Come down any time, and we can have a chat.”

“Only too glad,” replied Lynn. “So long!”

* * *

“Well, did you find Desmond?” asked Jasper, when Lynn returned.

“Yes. A jolly decent chap, too.”

“One of the best, Mr. Kingswell. How are you at working out quantities? These are the tail-end of orders for the scow load. I'd like them finished up to-day, so that it leaves me clear with the wage sheets to-morrow.”

“How do you work it, Mr. Jasper?”

“Well, every hand is paid in cash weekly, and signs for it. Some pay their wages back into their credit, for which they get a slip. Some, a few days later, then pay in various amounts. There are others who pay in a good deal more—the fortunate ones who have either won bets at cards, snooker or billiards. A few change their cash for cheques to send their wives or relations. On payday they come in at the rate of five an hour. Each lot know their hour, so there is not much rush. You'll have a chance to see the performance to-morrow. The staff manager and foreman are paid monthly, by cheque, which is due next week.”

“For the life of me, I can't see how you and Mr. Wynder can keep up with the clerical work of this mill,” said Lynn.

“Fortunately, Miss Cushla comes to our assistance when there is any typing to do—I'm not much good at it,” returned Jasper.

After dinner that night Wynder excused himself, saying there was some work he wanted to finish at the office. He certainly went there, but came out in about ten minutes, leaving the light burning. He looked cautiously around and then walked across the railway lines, leading into the bush. He gave a low whistle which was immediately answered. Then out of the gloom ap peared a man. Wynder said nothing until he was sure who it was—Sam Higgins—who was the first to speak.

“Anything doing, colonel?”

“Don't speak so loudly, you fool. No, nothing so far. The safe business won't do. I can't see how we could get away with the boodle. It would be a far better plan to stick the car up, dispose of Martin, and get away with the lot. The most it will be is £500 or £600, but it's cash. If we cut the telephone wires we can get a long way before the trouble begins.”

“That suits me, colonel. We'll have to take Holt, else he'll ‘blow the gaff’,” Higgins replied.

“That divides up the profits. Anyway, we could take him and dump him somewhere on the way,” said Wynder. “In the meantime, I'm just a little worried about the new hand they call Kingswell. I've seen that stamp of man too often not to be wary. At any rate, it will be as well to keep in touch with me here every night, in case we may have to bring off the coup a bit sooner, but if all goes well, it will be the trip after next, and I think I can add a bit to the venture by copying the Old Man's signature. Good night, Higgins.”

Wynder sauntered away, keeping in the shade of some standing bush until opposite the building. In a short while he regained his office. “I wonder what I'm going to do with Higgins?” he thought. “Anyhow, this item can wait till time and opportunity arrive.

No one had noticed Lynn as he quietly left the sitting-room. He made no attempt to follow Wynder, but took a straight course to the office buildings, and in the shelter of a narrow division between the office and the mill, he waited. He heard Wynder go out, and seizing the opportunity he bored a three-quarter of an inch hole through the walls which consisted of T. & G. lining and weatherboards. He had brought

(Photo., courtesy J. H. Kemnltz.)

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page 43 with him a piece of wood and fashioned a plug from it which would fill the hole. Lynn was able to see the office table and the entrance to the room. In about twenty minutes Wynder returned, glanced at the piles of books and papers, sat down, and began arranging them in a neat pile. The account books he gathered together and put away on the shelves. Then sitting down again he took from his inside pocket a small, but effective-looking revolver which he carefully cleaned, oiled and loaded. “I may want you,” he said softly.

Lynn waited no longer. Adjusting the plung in the hole he went straight to the billiard room hoping to see Jacques Martin.

Espying Desmond, Lynn went up to him. “Is Martin in the saloon?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Desmond. “See that man in the corner—reddish moustache?”

“Yes,”

“That's Martin.”

“Thanks,” said Lynn, and strolled across the room.

“Are you Mr. Martin?” asked Lynn, as he approached the young man he sought.

“Yes! What can I do for you? You're Mr. Kingswell, the new hand, aren't you?”

“Yes,” replied Lynn. “Do you mind coming outside? I want to have a chat with you about an intending passenger.”

“Certainly.”

With that the two went out.

“Well, now, to come to the point. I want to make the trip with you, and I don't want anyone to see me leave. Is there anywhere you could pick me up? I'll guarantee to get there without being seen.”

“What's the game—clearing out? Sick of the job already?” queried Martin.

“No. I'm coming back, but I wish to accompany you on this and perhaps the next trip. I don't want anybody to know about it except Mr. Jasper, and if I think it is necessary I will tell Mr. Kay. But I must have your confidence also.”

“I shall want yours too,” replied Martin.

“Well, if I say it is solely in the interest of Mr. Kay, and I may add, in yours, will you believe me?”

“I don't quite know, you are springing it a bit suddenly, and I can't see an object.”

“Supposing I told you that there are some suspicious characters about here—men who are wanted—would that satisfy you?” asked Lynn. “The photographs I have may or may not be useful in identifying them—men of that sort shave, or let their beards grow, but I will have formed a far better opinion by to-morrow night and if I am wrong, then you can take your lonely trip by yourself. In any case I think it would always be safer for you to carry a six-shooter.”

“I always do, Mr. Kingswell.”

“That's good! If you are satisfied then, just tell me where you will pick me up, and how I can get to the spot without being seen.”

“If you are in Mr. Kay's confidence, go with him a little way on the train line, and then make a straight cut through the bush, until you reach the fence, follow it until you come to the gate. I can pick you up there. I leave at 7.30 a.m.”

“It isn't necessary for me to ask you not to speak of this matter, is it Martin?”

“Good Lord, no. If there are some twisters about, let's get them, Mr. Kingswell.”

“Of course there's always a chance of their getting us,” replied Lynn. “Anyhow, keep a watch on the car.”

“I hardly think it will come that way—more likely to stick the car up, blot you out, and drive away with the whole box of tricks. However, it may be all bunk, but I'm taking no risks. Now we had better go down to the billiard room and have a game.”

(To be continued.)

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The Golden West—continued from page 37. ably, although he had often seen the coal seam, discovered by Brunner, he had only the very faintest idea of the vast possibilities it suggested.

Where Mackay (now an almost forgotten name) saw an expanse of land, either heavily timbered, or open Kakihi lands, now lies many a snug farm or prosperous township, and where once he heard the whirr of a bird and its fleeting song, is heard the throb of engines, the sound of wheels, and the shouts and whistles of men at work, for, with its coal and gold mines, its sawmills, its farms and its busy wharves and railways, the West Coast is now a thriving, bustling centre of almost ceaseless activity.

The forthcoming centenary will bring before us the names of many who are in danger of being forgotten. James Mackay is one of these. The Westland Committee proposes to erect a statue in his memory, or to mark in some dignified and worthy fashion New Zealand's appreciation of his work. The memorial will be in the little township of Okarito, where the deed of transfer was signed on May 30th, 1860. Now that transport is becoming so quick and simple a matter, there will doubtless be many a visit paid during the celebrations to Jackson's Bay and to Bruce Bay, two places at which reserves were set aside for the Maoris.

Some years after Mackay's visit, a settlement of Europeans was established in South Westland, under a scheme arranged by Sir Julius Vogel. The settlement was a settlement of foreigners, including many Germans, Poles and Italians, but only loneliness, poverty and despair proved to be their lot, in spite of the fact that many of them were highly educated, wise and self-sacrificing men. There was no really workable harbour, no proper roads, and the unfortunate people, who had with difficulty arrived there, found themselves with the wide Tasman Sea before them, the lonely and mighty Southern Alps behind, and on either side, thick forests, with only a few often-flooded paths leading through them. Then, too, with so much bush, the weather was wetter then than now.

With rain, isolation, hunger, and hopelessness, this little settlement had a dreary, indeed heart-breaking time. Eventually, the Government had to remove them to other and more congenial parts of New Zealand.

A harbour has quite recently been made at Bruce Bay, and, already shipments of timber (and Westland is indeed the home of fine timbers) have been sent from there. With the new Coast road now running to Milford, and with the regular air-service, the last of the isolation has been removed.