NANCE OF BRIMSTONE PIT

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXVII, Issue 5558, 8 April 1905, Page 13

NANCE OF BRIMSTONE PIT

(By James Gray Waddell.) Brimstone Pit was a gold-diggers’ camp witli a sinister reputation, and lienco its mime, given to it in a grimly humourous sense and by no means denoting the contiguity of any pit visible to the eye. Tho men who originally composed it wore tho bardost-owearing, hardest-drinking, most graceless sot of roughs it would ho possible to End in llio two Americas or anywhere else, Info was cheap at Brimstone Pit at that time. It was no place for tho man who was not quick on tho draw. There were two collections of mounds outside the camp another grimly humourous idea. Tho smaller liad for tenants mon who departed this life in orthodox nnd unsonsational fashion. Tho other ruul larger collection boro witness to an unfortunate class who had failed lamentably at tho crucial moment when a certain kind of slickness was absolutely indispensable to an extended sojourn upon earth. Backing it, they wore not oven vouchsafed time for vain regrets—in this life at least. Such invariably received a good funeral from tho Pittics, iviio turned out in full force to do honour to the departed. Perhaps this was a compounding with grim possibilities, for every man liked to think that in similar circumstances he would bo similarly honoured, and no man knew when an occasion might arise which Would find him slow in negotiating a passage to his hip pocket, with results to himself disastrous and irremediable. But that was in tho days before Paul Sherwood came along and bought up tho old drinking booth, erecting upon its site a commodious wooden structure, which was forthwith dubbed tho “Hotel.” It wasn’t old Paul who turned the tamp into a sort of apology for Heaven, though, against his own interests, ho did something in tho way of preventing any over-indulgence in liquor on his promises. No, it was his daughter Nance who worked the miracle. She was just twenty, and tho sweetest and daintest little lady that over trod tho earth, let alone such 11 he’ll upon it as was our camp. How old Paul came to have such a daughter we never properly understood. ' Ho was an educated man, and I fancy had iseen better days, like many another of us. The girl had lived with some swell friends in ’Frisco up to the time of the "Hotel” venture, and it wasn’t her father’s idea that she should join him but her own, hacked up by a taste for novelty. She was a real beauty—all grit and utterly devoid of fear, though the only woman in the place. _ There was no false pride about her, either. She went about amongst Us and made a friend of every man In camp, and before a week was out most of us would have given our lives-for her a dozen times over. Her influence was good .all round, and it soon began to tell. Oaths and coarse words were barred off in her presence, and the man whose memory lapsed persistently was rapdly qualifying for tho substructure of a fresh mound in the larger collection already referred to. She made known her utter dcstestation of the settlement nf differences on the quick-shoot principle. As a result, during tho six months she was with us the camp was called upon to attend only four funerals necessitated by causes other than natural. Thie of them was a double ceremony, owing to a singular unanimity of action on the part of the subjects in closuring a disagreement, fatal to both at the selfsame moment. The loss of two of her “boys,” as’tshe called us, at one swoop rendered Nance inconsolable for a week. Pete Cayman’s unfortunate, touchiness accounted for the other three. Pete was the bully of tlio camp, with a larger collection of mounds to his credit than was altogether seemly. Ho was the quickest man on tho draw I have over met. If you happened to tread on his corns the odds were against your over knowing •what had drilled you; but some of us doubted whether ho would be as ready to stand up at a ten-yard range on tho give-and-take principle—a very different matter from plugging a man at touching distance as a clincher to a slight difference of opinion. Pete was a big, blustering brute, and Nance dostested him cordially. Of course he knew it, but that didn’t prevent him from taking a fancy to her in a devilish sort of way, which ho daren’t show except in ghoulish looks, for he couldn’t fight tho whole camp, and any Insult to Nance would have meant that. Wo wore a rough lot, but, leaving him out, she was as safe with us as in her mother’s arms, and she knew it and trusted us accordingly. One day a now mate appeared in camp, Xiauronoe Allendale wasJiis name, so we christened him Larry straight off. He was a Britisher, a bit of a swell evidently, down on his luck or with a taste for roughing it. That wasn’t our business; wo accepted him for what he was—as fine a specimen of an English younker as over crossed the pond. When he saw our little Nance for the first time he tumbled all to pieces, which was only to bo expected.. As for Nanoo—well, she was a woman, and Larry was tho sort of man. a woman could stake her sonl on without risk. Inside a week a fool could have guessed that if things went well they wouldn’t be long in drifting into double harness. Larry meant things to go well, and worked like a slave. He had something to work for, and ho was lucky from tho start. His cherry ways soon made him a prime favourite with all hut one man— Pete Cayman. Pete hated him like sin on account of Nanoo. She was beyond Pete; but, dog-in-the-manger style, it raised a thousand furies in him to see her snapped up by anyone else. He didn't- mean it to come about if a handy bullet could prevent it, and never lost a chanco of goading Larry into a quarrel which might serve as an excuse for sending him across the border. Larry know well enough what he was after, and took good care not to catch on. Some of ns were beginning to think ho wasn’t particularly well plucked when we saw what he stood from Pete. Wo didn't know the stuff be was made of until one night Pete over-reached himself, and Larry threw the dork horse and gave us a taste of his real mottle. We were In the bar-room at the ‘Hotel,” a crowd of us, Pete and Larry among the rest. Pete was in one of his best blustering moods, taking the diape of a denunciation of British pluck, based on some scrapping affair in winch ho had once engaged, and in which some Britishers hadn’t shown to advantage, according to Ibis version. ■s)f course, it was easy to see what he was aiming at. If Larry out up rough and showed a bit of temper, it might_

cause him a bad accident. Pete was pretty sure of himself in the _ matter of shooting on tho quick, especially with a green hand such as he reckoned Larry to be. Larry was talking to old Paul, ana didn’t seem to hear what was going on. Anyhow ho didn’t take any notice, and lliis rued Pete. "Fact o’ the matter is, mates,” ho said loudly and pugnaciously, ‘ there ain’t a darned Britisher worth a cuss when, it comes to iightin’.” The room occamo pretty quiet then. It was running through all our minds that if Larry swallowed tho remark without coughing ho wasn't a good enough man for Nance. Ho lounged round carelessly where lie was standing, and this brought him face to face with Pete. Ho looked quite unruffled, and as though ho wore used to being insulted every day of his life. ‘Poto Cayman,” ho said, easily and politely, “your experiences have prejudiced you. They need bringing up to date.”

And then his left fist shot out like a streak of lightning, getting homo square between Pete’s eyes. Such a terrific, knock-out smash few of us had ever soon. Poto was lifted clean off his feet, big as ho was, and down ho went with a thud, like a falling sack of flour.

Well, there was a scatter then. Only one thing could- ho looked for, and every man dodged for what ho thought tho safest place from stray bullets. It was a full ten seconds before Pete showed signs of life. When lie did scramble to his feet, looking considerably dazed, ho found himsclr covered by Larry’s revolver] bold in a hand as steady as a rock, and pointing straight at his heart. I never saw visible hell jump into a man’s eyes as it jumped into Pete’s when he realised how things had gone astray. His hand crept stealthily down to Ills side, but Larry was too quick for him. “Hands up!” he rapped out sternly-, in a voice which cut like steel, and Pete lost no time in obeying, for ho wasn’t too 'dense to know when sudden death was staring at him. “Now, Poto Cayman,” said Larry quietly, “if I don’t receive an apology in tho morning, I shad take it you moan light, and shall have the greatest pleasure in giving you a free passage to boll. I give you the night to think it over. This room won’t hold both of us at present, so clear, and no foxing oi I’ll siioot you like a dog.” Poto went, muttering curses. Curses were all ho could afford just then, for Larry’s revolver covered irim out of the room in a business-like way, which spoke volumes for Pete’s chances if his hand should happen to stray in tho region ot his belt. ■‘Cursed neat I” said little Billy Blake, when wo had recovered our breath. “But fisticuffs won’t bo any manner of use to-morrow morning. Can you shoot, younker?—that’s tho point, though X admit you look pretty slick with your weapon.” Larry grinned, and turned to old Paul. “Got any corks?” he asked. Paul didn’t quite understand, but faked out a handful and passed them over. Larry selected half-a-dozen, and struck uiem in a row on tho edge of a ahelt. Then ho strolled to tho other end of the room, a good twenty-five feet off, and pulled out his shooter. “Just an inch or so more space, boys,” ho called out, and his shooter cracked six times in quick succession. After tho last there wasn’t a cork in sight. It was a feat not another man in camp would have attempted.

Larry caino back to us, loading up. “I was reckoned a fair shot at home,” he remarked carelessly.

“A fair shot 1” repeated Billy Drake drily. “Guess you’ll do. Boys,” lifting his glass, “here’s to Pete’s funeral!” The events of the night weren’t over. Half an-hour later a man came in with some news.

“What’s up with Pete?” ho asked. “He’s gone riding out of camp as if the devil was behind him.” We looked at one another. What on earth had taken Pete out of camp at that time of night unless—well, as I hinted, some of us weren’t altogether sure of Pete’s pluck if it came to a matter of standing up to bo shot at in cold blood. Billy Blake blurted out our suspicion. ■ ’ I “Bolted!” he said laconically. Old Paul wasn’t in the room at the moment. He came in immediately after, looking anxious. “Anyone seen Nance lately?” he asked. “Sho went out for a stroll with Sambo a couple of hours ago and hasn’t come back.”

Sambo was old Paul’s black boy, who was devoted to his young mistress, and followed her about everywhere liko a faithful dog. He himself hurst into tho room before we had time to reply —an ugly sight, with blood streaming from a big gash in his forehead. “Missy Nanoel' he exclaimed wildly. “Pete’s carried her off I” Old Paul staggered back against the counter, looking liko death, and the rest of us jumped to our feet as if galvanised. Larry dashed at Sambo. “Quick boy! What do you mean?” he said fiercely. . Sambo didn’t dawdle over belling. They were returning to camp when Pete met them a mile'out. He stopped and called td iNanoe that he had a message for her. Nance went up to him unsuspectingly, but when Pete stopped as if to speak he gripped • hold of her instead nnd pulled her up into his saddle. Sambo went for him with a knife, and got a kick on the head which sent him sprawling, after which he didn’t remember anything for a bit. When he came to himself he crawled back to camp. That was all, and it was had. It was plain enough what had happened. Pete had funked and bolter but fate had given him an opportunity for revenge upon Larry as devilish as he could have wished—an improvement even upon sending him to kingdom oome. It was madness all the same, for after that there wasn’t a man of us who wouldn’t hunt him for his life if it meant a run all over the continent.. There was no time wasted in talk. Wo weighed tilings up quickly. The country round about was mostly impracticable for a horseman, and the only track Pete was likely to have taken was that which lea to the nearest township,' forty miles off. He daren’t take Nanoo there, of course. He was bound to turn her adrift eventually, but if we didn’t oatoh him before then —good God I it made us sick to (flunk of what would have happened to our little Nance at the hands of the accursed skunk.

Larry was the first to act. “The ford, boys I” he shouted, and dashed out of the “Hotel.” W© understood. The road Peto must have taken wound circuitously for a twelvo-mile stretch through the hills hemming in the camp on three sides. If ho wasn’t stopped before he covered those twelve miles and reached the point where the road left tho hills for tho open, it wouldn’t bo easy to find him afterwards. That point was only five miles from camp in a bee-line across

tho open end of the valley. Tho beeline was never taken however, for a river barred off access to the road skirting tho far side, and the ford mentioned by Larry wasn’t practicable once in a hundred times. Larry took tho odd chance and wont for it.

Five minutes later tho whole camp was alarmed, and in five more every man who owned a horse was in saddle. Half tho party took the hill road. The rest of us—old Paul at our head—made for tho ford like a pack of hell-hounds let loose.

Larry had got the start of us. AA’o found him at the ford—on the wrong side. There had been heavy rains in tho hills, and the ford was a raging torrent, hopeless oven for a horse to attempt by swimming. The odd chance had failed us, and we were helpless, oven if Peto hadn't already got clear—as helpless as if an ocean stood in our way. We had barely realised it when away in tho distance we hoard the thud of a horse’s hoofs, coming rapidly nearer. It was a bright moonlight night, almost as light as day—wo had reason to bo thankful for that afterwards—and the horseman soon came into sight. As ho drew along the track close to tho river hank wo saw it was Pete, with Nance in front of him, gripped round by his free arm. He was a powerful brute, and she was evidently quite helpless. The sight caused some language which did credit to Brimstone Pit as its worst. Ho saw us, but the swollen river told him ho had nothing to fear from our proximity. Only forty paoes cut him off from certain destmel on, yet the scoundrel, glorying in or:r impotence, actually, paused opposite us and laughed mockingly. At the same time he didn’t mean to take any risk, but, like the hound ho was, pulled tho girl round as a screen to cover him, knowing well that no one dare let loose a bullet in face of the danger to Nance. No one? Wo had forgotten Larry, and Peto couldn’t see him. Fie was lying ..at on his face with his rifle at the ready, covering Pete, his eye glinting along the barrel like a point of steel and his jaw sot like a trap. “By- God!” muttered one of the men, aghast, “if he hits him it will be through tho girl I” “Shoot I” exclaimed old Paul hoarsely. “Better that than worse.” But killing Nanoo to accomplish Pete’s destruction wasn’t Larry’s idea. We didn’t know ho was as handy with his rifle as with his revolver, and that he hadn’t altogether pinned his faith to the odd chance of the ford. Ho was waiting his opportunity, which came when Pete, ambling along, reached a slight rise in tho track, and still covered by Nance showed a clear outline against the moonlit sky. Then bis rifle cracked, and next moment Pete’s saddle was empty, and two huddled forms law upon the ground. Old Paul groaned and turned away his head, and dark muttorings against fLarry had just commenced when someone shouted excitedly, “Look!” and we saw Nance rise slowly to her feet. We had barely time to ask ourselves if she had really escaped unhurt, wlien she was seen to grab at the bridle of Pete’s horse. Immediately- after wo-shouted triumphantly, for she had sprung nimbly upon its back and ridden off liko the wind, sticking to the unaccustomed saddle somehow. Nance could ride with the best of us, and we knew that whether Pete was alive or dead she wan safe from him.

Larry jumped up then. “I fancy Pete’s brains won’t bo of any further use to him, boys,” he said grimly, and vaulted into his saddle.

We went back to camp like a streak, shouting the news as we passed through, and on to meet the other party, who were bound to pick up Nance on her way back. W© mot them in duo course, and Nance hadn’t a scratch. Yes, one; she showed us where a bullet bad ploughed a clean gap through her hair, and then we understood Larry’s remark about Pete’s brains. The men who went on to .put hiim underground told us that tho bullet had gone _ straight through tho middle of his forehead. None of us calculate on seeing a finer Sbit ot shooting this side the eternal.

Of course, after that there was a stronger bond than ever between Nance and Larry, and, as things turned out, it was soon to bo mad© still stronger, -nly ten days later mails came into camp, bringing a bulky official-looking letter for Larry. He was a swell, as we thought, ,and several conveniently sudden deaths had raised him from poverty to wealth and a baronetcy. It made no difference as regards Nance. Ho went to town, came back with a parson, and married her straight away, and no couple ever had such a send-off as we gave them when they left lis for good. Every man in camp turned out and rode with them half-way to town. When wo parted from them with a volley of firearms and a final ringing cheer, Nance’s ©yes were wet, and ours weren’t altogether free from mist. We felt as if a good lump of our lives had gone with her. Larry wouldn’t part old Paul from his daughter, and the “Hotel” found a new owner. As I have said, he was an. educated man, and not likely to discredit his son-in-law.

And so Nanoe is now Lady Allendale, and a great lady in England. But wo reckon that nothing this world can give her is too good for our Nance, although iher gain was our loss.