Avast! Avast m’hearties! Below is the final curious instalment of this most peculiar yarn. Hence, avast further reading! Unless you have read the previous two instalments, stop where you are and read these first ->
Now you have, read on ye salty beasties!
The rush of air in between his teeth was loud enough for mother to hear a good eighteen feet away. Bending at the waist, he reached down and pulled out, shaking the ash away as he did so, a pair of shiny black, hob nailed and laced boots. Neither boot was harmed, and appeared as though they had been removed from his feet, not from the ashes of a fire that had decimated all it encountered. Turning the boots over in his hands he noted ‘MORS’ stamped into the perfectly oiled sole. Calling Mother, he showed them to her, asking her if she had ever seen them before. Boots in hand, she examined them minutely, on turning them over, soles facing her, she………………….
……….gently wrapped them into the apron around her waist, turned, and slowly meandered back to the cart and camp fire.
Two weeks to the day, laying beside one another wrapped in the strip of canvas on the ground beneath the cart, Mother and Father were both found, very much dead. Their remains, considering how warm it had become the week prior, were remarkably intact, and by appearance, neither corpse had been molested by animals nor birds. Ants and flies had been at them, although not greatly, beyond that, there was no obvious cause of death. It was noted that a “clean pair of ankle high black hob nail boots were found on the grass beside the old man, but is too big for him.”
By the time Constable Street of the Moora Police had arrived at about 9.30 the following morning, New Norcia’s being unavailable, all the livestock in nearby paddocks had been watered, and pushed into paddocks heavier in feed by surrounding neighbours. Plodding along on a sway backed and big bellied chestnut mare, he was surprised to find a medium height, well built man, heavily tanned, and approximately 25 years of age, strolling up the house track toward him. Dressed in a crisp white collarless linen shirt, moleskin trousers, black boots, and sporting lengthy ginger hair of the style that put Constable Street in mind of a Naval Officer from the time of Nelson. When questioned by the Police Officer as to his reason for being on the track exiting the property, the rather dashing chap replied in a heavy Scot’s brogue “I’ve come to get me boots.” Accepting the dubious response, Constable Street bid him good day, put his heels to the horse, and set off, abruptly stopping, the question of ‘no hat, horse, nor water bag’ sprang to mind. Drawing rein, he turned in the saddle, and found the road empty. Perplexed, he turned the horse and set back up the track after him, calling out all the while, still he found no one. Thinking himself mad, he cast his eye to the ground, yet there were absolutely no prints on the ground other than those of the horse he was seated upon, and that of a small kangaroo. Casting around the surrounding scrub, not a thing beyond an unwanted kangaroo tick clinging to the back of his neck was found. Incredibly, absolutely nothing at all showed any trace of the chap having ever been there, which he later reported.
Months passed with rapidity, Mother and Father, cause of death ‘unknown’, were buried with their daughter, and life between New Norcia and Longview returned to the semblance of normality it had previously enjoyed.
Interestingly enough, there are still reports of a long haired chap, collarless white shirt, moleskins, and black boots; yet the word behind closed doors is that ‘MORS’, haunts the road between Longview and New Norcia to this day.
Click the Rockwell Kent picture above, there is a ‘whole lotta cocaine running around’ in there.
Post Script – ‘MORS’ is a word of Latin origin.
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