The Storyteller.

Taranaki Daily News, 26 February 1916, Page 9

The Storyteller.

THE BALGARDIE CLIFFS,

(By Ottwell Bums).

The hotel was built of' wood and corftgated iron, and the big saloon, which sarved for dining-room, was furnished in rather' primitive fashion with long trestle-legged tables, and forms that were innocent of backs. At the far end was a counter which served as a l*r, and tt one end of it stood a group of in flannel shirts and trousers, nofely discussing a notice which the proprietor had quite recently tacked to- the wall. The notice scrawled in capitals by an inexpert hand ran as follows: IX FUTURE ALL GENTLEMEN TAKING THEIR MEALS AT THIS HOTEL WILL BE REQUIRED TO WEAR WAISTCOATS. "Well, if that don't lick creation!" commented a grizzled miner, after a man in the front rank had obligingly read the notice aloud. "What in thunder do it mean, anywdty?" A man laughed'-at the grizzled one's bewilderment, and at the top of his voice offered what seemed a likely solution. 'lt's Jim Vance's little joke! He knows there isn't a waistcoat in Balgardie, an' so—" A roar of laughter went up at the suggestion, and then another voice shouted: "Here's Jim Vance himself. Anybody wanting first-hand information can have it for askln'.". All the men tuiied towards the bar, where a man of portly form and goodhumored fabe had just appeared—Jim Vance, the proprietor of the hotel. Immediately one'of the miners hailed him. "Say, Jim," he asked with a jerk of his head' towards the notice, "what's the joke?" ' "There isn't, no joke," replied the proprietor gravely; "and the man who thinks he can see One don't know the meaning of print." ' • "Great Jlioshophat!" cried one of the men. "Yo' don't mean that that there notice is serious, Jim!" "It's as- serious a« a notice of the police eommisioners," answered Vance, imperturbably.. "But why—t-" began two or three voices at once. Jim Vhnce waved* a.hand for silence, then he explained. "It's this way, boys. As some of you know, IVe a girl what's been down to Brisbane at school to be made a lady of, an' she" ain't used to shirts an' trousers for dinner rig- out, an' as she's going- to help in the bar, it don't seem the ticket that she should be called on to uca shirt a,, so, .as gentlemen, I ask you to live. up, to that notice. We've been uncivilised long enough at Balgardie." ~ "But there .ain't, a .waistcoat in " "Wrong,. Davis!'J, broke in the proprietor with a wile. "There's a whole stock 4<>Wn at .Clark's stores. I gave him the tip three weeks since, an " ho broke off and grinned cheerfully—"the man whafs particular about patterns had .best get there first." A burst, of. hilarity, greeted this advice, then, a man. detached himself from the group, and began to move quietly towards the door. . He was young, and to him the.advice seemed to be not without point. , A .second man saw him, and, guessing his purpose, followed him. Another and another, until not one of the group remained. Jim Vance smiled. "I knowed that the boys 'ud behave like gentlemen, if it was put to them properlyhe said to the bar-tender. "An' now, Tom, you can go an' get some tucker. I'll' have Mary here, an' introduce her proper when they come Jjack." The bar-tender grinned and disappeared, and for perhaps twenty minutes the saloon was quite empty, except for the proprietor, who sat smoking a rank cigar, and from time to time smiling to himself. Then from outside came a rumble of feet and the sound of voices mingled with boisterous laughter. Half a score of men entered the saloon—all wearing waistcoats, most of them unbuttoned. Vance smiled. "Please to see you, boys. If you'll juine it, we'll drink Mary's health." He began to fill the glasses, and whilst he was so engaged the door behind the bar opened, and a girl entered the saloon, a girl \yho, with her peach-like complexion, hair the color of spun-gold, and eyes of clearest grey, seemed to most of those present like a visitor from another world. "My daughter, gentlemen," safd Vance gravely, and waving his hand in front turned to his daughter. "The boys, Mary! An' ain't a better crowd in Queensland." 1 "Nor another what have got branvnew westcoats!" commented one of the "boys" solemnly. Mary Vance'3 cheeks dimpled with sr/Ulen laughter. "I am sure yon look very well in them," she said, "and no doubt you all feel more comfortable." "Wc'ir get used to 'em in time," Said a voice with mock lugubriousness, and as a gust of laughter broke out, one of the old-timers raised his glass. "My respects, Miss Vance." "An' mine!" shouted the others, and as the glasses were drained the girl blushinxly nodded her acknowledgement. Such was the manner of Mary Vance's advent at Balgardie Cliffs, a place which is noted as one of the "umping-off" places for the gem-hunters of Queensland, and that which followed her advent was in keeping with the beginning. On waistcoats followed white flannel collars. Som? of the younger men began to share, and there were even men who were known to wash every time that they purposed a visit to the Clifl's Hotel, for, as one man put it, it made a man feel like a sweep against a lily, when new from the grime of the diggings he encountered the freshness of Mary Vance. There were also men who ceased to gamble, and who drank less that they might the better catch the smiling light of the girl's eyes; and before a fortnight wag through there were a score of rivals for her hand. None of them, however, found favor ivith the girl herself, though one ol them unquestionably had Jim Vance's Approval. This man was a gem-hunter who, having made money, had turned dealer in partnership with a "GermanJew in Sydney, a man who knew his own worth, and who steadily pestered the girl with his attentions. Tom Lloyd to give him his name—had few friends in Balgardie, being hated by many men whose necessities he had exploited in his dealings with Ifnem, and these men saw with consternation Vance's open approval of his suit; but rejoiced at Mary's equally open dis- , like. To the latter, however, Lloyd • appeared to he quite impervious. In season and out of seuen he danetd at'

tendance on the girl, assuming, the attitude of a relationship between them which had no real existence, an attitude which eventually led to trouble.

One day Tom Lloyd entered the saloon to find Mary in animated conversation with a stranger. The latter was young, good looking, and for Balgardie Cliffs, remarkably well dressed. Ho wore a Norfolk coat, Bedford-cord riding breeches, brown leggings and boots, and, most remarkable of all, a stiff, starched collar. His English origin was written all over him; and his boyish face and merry eyes told of a nature that was frank and honest. When he saw him, Lloyd moved forward with the intention of intervening, but the girl gave him no opportunity. Nodding to him in the most casual fashion, she continued her conversation with the Englishman, whilst Lloyd watched them with a frown on his face. Fragments of their conversation reached him, fragments that told him they were not strangers. "But how did yoi- know that I was here, Louis?" asked the girl. "Frank Holt's sister at Brisbane told me. She said you were going to bury yourself in the Opal Country, at a camp the name of which she couldn't remember, but when I rjm over the names of likely places and' mefitioned Balgardie, she recalled it."

"And you came all this way?" asked the girl in a laughing whisper. "I'd have gone round the world," answered the young man promptly. Mary Vance blushed and laughed. "You—you goose, Louis" Tom Lloyd saw the blush and caught the words. The frown on his face beoame a scowl, and he rapped sharply upon the counter.

"Say Mary my dear, just give me a Long John." Long John was the local name for a particular brand of whisky, and'as the girl measured the spirit he leaied forward, and with an insolent glance at the Englishman inquired, "Who's the dude, Mary?" The girl's face showed that she resented the familiarity of his manner, and her tones were icy as she replied: "The dude is Mr. Louis Cardine—from the Old Country." "No need to tell me that," he answered, "anybody can see he's a remittance man, flush to-day and broke to-morrow." The girl glanced at the Englishman. His face betrayed amusement. It was plain that he had heard Lloyd's remarks, and that he took them lightly. She herself did not trouble to reply to them, and the dealer spoke again. "Regular tailor's dummy, isn't he? When he's wanting a job, Clark'll give him one up at the Stores to show off them new suits of his. He'll feed him too like a puppy " ' He got no further. The Englishman moved suddenly, and before Lloyd could speak another word, a pair of stTong hands had fallen on his shoulders and swung him round. "Were you speaking of me, sir?" Louis Cardine's tones were drawling and soft but there was a flash in his eyes that told the dealer that behind this apparent softness there was real strength. He was not intimidated, however. t "Well," he said, "suppose I was, what The Englishman's hands shifted their grip. Before Lloyd knew what was happening he was being hurried from the saloon, propelled by hands that had firm hold of his collar and the slack of his trousers, and as these him he was shot into the ankle-deep dust of the street. Half a dozen men who had hurried to the door broke into laughter, as he picked himself up, livid of face, and shaking with impotent wrath. 'You whelp, you I'll get even with you for this. I'll " Cardine took a step forward, and Lloyd's futile wrath stayed its utterance. He was no match physically for this clean-limbed youth; and bully as he was, had no stomach to iface a public thrashing. His words broke off unfinished, and he turned and moved up the street, followed by the laughter of the men at the door. Louis Cardine 6wung rourfd towards the hotel. Mary Vance was standing at the door. Her face was a little pale, but her eyes danced with approval. But when she was back at; the counter again, she whispered warnings. "You must be careful, Louis. Lloyd is a dangerous man. I have heard stories " "And you've seen a new one acted?" laughed the Englishman. "Don't be nervous Mary. I'm not afraid of cattle of that kind." It was three months later, and Louis Cardine was talking with Mary Vance again, this time, however, not in the saloon. They were seated on the bonedry bank of some old diggings, and Cardine was telling the girl of a find that he had made. 'lt's a great place, Mary. The bed of an old lake, and as full of opal as it can sti,ek. I've' brought all two thousand pounds worth back this and have sent it to a friend in Brisbane to dispose of. Next time I return here we will be married. Your father is too enamoured of that blackguard Lloyd for my liking, and the sooner the matter is settled the better. . . . I'v» come down to get hold of a camel. • Our water-hole has given out, and the nearest is forty miles away. Jimmy—-that's ray black, you know—understands camels, and he'll be able to load up skins of water, and keep us going, till my fortune is made." A thoughtful look came on the girl's face. She had heard of the fate of men stranded in the deserts of Northern Australia, and was moved to offer a caution. "If anything happened to the camel in laughingly. "The "amel is a tough beast. Things will happen to us before him. Remember what the Afghans say—that God made the camel out of stone. And you know that fellow Ildrim. He has a beast that is the very ticket. I am in negotiations with him, and the camel will be mine to-morrow. Then I shall go back, and when I return " He broke off and looked at her. The girl understood the question in his eyes, and answered quite simply, "Yes, When you return." A few minutes later they left the bank, and turned into the dusty road thiat led to the tamp. When they were well on the road, the figure of a man emerged from the scrub at the far side of tho bank, and looked after them. It was Lloyd, and his face was T>lack with hate. He shook his fist after the retreating pair. "When you return," he muttered savagely. "You never shall. I'll see to that, my flue bird," Louis Cardine duly "returned to his ' ?E&1 51'fi® two days later, taking with

him the camel which he had purchased ] from Ilirim, the Afghan. About the same time Tom Lloyd disappeared from Balgardie Cliffs, and was ateeiit for almost three weeks, but one day at the end of that time, dush-stained and travel-worn, he made his appearance in the saloon of the Clifl's Hotel, and announced to all and sundry that he had just, returned from Brisbane. He strove to impress Mary Vance with this statement, so much so, that the girl, knowing him to be secretive by nature, began fo wonder what lay behind this unusual filuikness. N Five days later, when a black with cracked lips, bloodshot eyes, and dropping with fatigue, staggered into the saloon, she had a terrible suspicion of the reason of Lloyd's unaccustomed candour. The black was Cardinc's man Jimmy, and as he stumbled towards the bar, at her first glance she thought that he was drunk, but at the second she knew the truth. The black was tortured by thirst—thirst long endured. Without a word, and without waiting for him to speak, she filled a pannikin with water. As the black began to gulp it eagerly, one or two old men who happened to be present intervened. "Go slow Jimmy.' Yer don't wanta kill yourself." The black took no notice of the warning, but having drained the pannikin held it towards the girl with a supplicating look upon his face. Mary glanced at the man who had spoken. He nodded. "Let him have.it He ain't a white man. These Jaekies innards are made dif "

Before he could finish speaking, Mary Vance had already refilled the pannikin There was a terrible anxiety in her heart, anxiety not for Jimmy, but for the man whom he served. Something dreadful had happened ' she was sure, and burning to know what it was, she had to school herself until the black had quenched his thirst. But after the fourth pannikin, she asked sharply: "What has happened, Jimmy? Where is Mr. Cardine?" The black looked at her with bloodshot. eyes. "Mitter Cardi' he dam near dead. I come for you Mitte Vant—for anybody fetcha him."

"But where is he? What has happened?" asked the girl, in an agony of apprehension. "He back-alonga—twenty—thirty mile. Some one, not black fellow shoo'ta the dam camel. He die, an' we. got no water. Mitter Cardi he say we go back here, but,we no find water-hole—lie gone dry; an' Mitter Cardi, he walk like a drunken man, an' fail down, an' I leave him, to get water and help." "How long ago did you leave him, Jimmy?" asked the girl with desperate calm. The black man shook his head. "Me not know. My head he go round." "Can you find the place?" "Yes, Mitte, I find place, one time, with eyes shut." » "Stay here," she said, "till I come back." She turned to the bar-tender and gave him some directions. The man promptly set food and drink before the black, and the girl left the saloon. Three-quarters of an hour later she was back. Jimmy was sitting on a bench puffing contentedly at a pipe, before him was an empty platter anil a half-filled pannikin of water. She went straight up to him. '"Jimmy," she said, "you must come now. We go to find Mr. Cardine." The blark rose obediently, but his legs shook as he tried to walk. "I no walk,' he said. "Legs dey not do " "There is no need,' she said quickly. "We shall ride." Jimmy reeled to the door. Outside knelt three camels, in charge of the Asiatic camel-driver, Ildrim. Each camel carried a water skin and a small parcel of stores. 'Without a word Jimmy staggered to one of the camels, and perched himself in the saddle, and Mary Vance, who since her advent in Balgardie had more than once gone camnl-riding for amusement, took the beast the Afghan indicated. Four minutes later they were off. Being .the middle of the afternoon, most of the men were at work and, there wore few to witness their departure, but at the end of the camp they came on Tom Lloyd sauntering down the dusty road. He stared at Jimmy as if he had seen a ghost, a'nd Mary Vance caught that look, and remembering his garrulousness of five days before, divined that he had been lying, and that he was the man who had shot the camel on which the two men's lives depended. She passed him with horror showing in her eyes, and half an hour later was in the dry aesert which rimmed Balgardie on the western side. How long they rode she never knew. To her the hours seemed interminable, and all her eyes ever saw was the form of Jimmy swaying drunkenly in the shimmering heat, and looking as if every moment he must topple from the saddle. By some miracle, however, he did nyt fall, and helped by the instinct of a primitive man, kept straight on towards the wilderness's heart. ' Unexpectedly he gave a cry. 'We get there, Mitte! We find him!" He drummed at his camel's ribs with his heels, and the pace increased. Mary Vance and • the Afghan followed him. A few minutes later the Asiatic brought his camel level with hers. On his grave face was a look of fear. He lifted a hand and pointed to the north. She glanced quickly that way. and saw a dense cloud, that, as she watched, seemed to grow higher and denser —a cloud that here and there was splashed with orange and red and deep purple, and as she looked she caught a faint roar as of a distant sea. "It is a dust storm!" she said quietly, though her heart was full of fear a« she thought how it might affect her quest. The Afghan suggested that they should dismount and wait until the storm had swept by, but she looked towards the swaying figure of Jimmy, from whom now came inarticulate cries of excitement, and shook her iiead. Five minutes later the storm was on them, bringing with it a mist of darkness, but' even as it broke, Mary Vance caught sight of a figure which rose ghostlike from the scrub, and began to stagger onward, away from her, She had no doubt as to the figure's identity, and not for a moment did she hesitate. Knowing the risk of separation from her companion* in that desert land, she turned aside and drove her beast into the darkness. y t. s is An hour iater, when the Afghan and Jimmy came to look for her, they found her seated against the recumbent camel, with the head of a man pillowed in her lap. The man's face had an emaciated look, and the lips were black and cracked, but the light of reason showed in the open eyes. When the black saw him he toppled from his camel and ran towards him, stumblingly: "Mitter Cardi!" he cried; "Mitter Cardi!" Louis Cardine half-smiled at the black's manifest gladness, then his eyes lifted themselves to Mary Vance's, and read there a profouncler joy.