: Little Guzzy and other stories by Habberton John - Short stories American; American fiction 19th century

@FreeBooksThu 08 Jun, 2023

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As Hanney's had no preacher, it will be readily imagined it had no church. With the first crowd who located there came an insolvent rumseller from the East. He called himself Pentecost, which was as near his right name as is usual with miners, and the boys dubbed his shop "Pentecost Chapel" at once. The name, somehow, reached the East, for within a few months there reached the post-office at Hanney's a document addressed to "Preacher in charge of Pentecost Chapel." The postmaster went up and down the brook in high spirits, and told the boys; they instantly dropped shovel and pan, formed line, and escorted the postmaster and document to the chapel. Pentecost acknowledged the joke, and stood treat for the crowd, after which he solemnly tore the wrapper, and disclosed the report of a certain missionary society. Modestly expressing his gratification at the honor, and his unworthiness of it, he moved that old Thompson, who had the loudest voice in the crowd, should read the report aloud, he, Pentecost, volunteering to furnish Thompson all necessary spirituous aid during the continuance of his task. Thompson promptly signified his acquiescence, cleared his throat with a glass of amber-colored liquid, and commenced, the boys meanwhile listening attentively, and commenting critically.

"Too much cussed heavenly twang," observed one, disapprovingly, as one letter largely composed of Scriptural extracts was read.

"Why the deuce didn't he shoot?" indignantly demanded another, as a tale of escape from heathen pursuers was read.

"You bet!" emphatically responded a majority of those present.

But at the time of which this story treats a missionary would have fared even worse, for the boys where wholly absorbed by a very unrighteous, but still very darling, pleasure. A pair of veteran knifeists, who had fought each other at sight for almost ten years every time they met, had again found themselves in the same settlement, and Hanney's had the honor to be that particular settlement. "Judge" Briggs, one of the heroes, had many years before discussed with his neighbor, Billy Bent, the merits of two opposing brands of mining shovels. In the course of the chat they drank considerable villainous whisky, and naturally resorted to knives as final arguments. The matter might have ended here, had either gained a decided advantage over the other; but both were skillful--each inflicted and received so near the same number of wounds, that the wisest men in camp were unable to decide which whipped. Now, to average Californians in the mines this is a most distressing state of affairs; the spectators and friends of the combatants waste a great deal of time, liquor, and blood on the subject, while the combatants themselves feel unspeakably uneasy on the neutral ground between victory and defeat. At Sonora, where Billy and the Judge had their first encounter, there was no verdict, so the Judge indignantly shook the dust from his feet and went elsewhere. Soon Billy happened in at the same place, and a set-to occurred at sight, in which the average was not disarranged. Both men went about, for a month or two, in a patched-up condition, and then Billy roamed off, to be soon met by the Judge with the usual result. Both men were known by reputation all through the gold regions, and the advent of either at any "gulch," or "washin'," was the best advertisement the saloon-keepers could desire. In the East, hundreds of men would have tried to reason the men out of this feud, and some few would have forcibly separated them while fighting; but in the diggings any interference in such matters is considered impertinent, and deserving of punishment.

The boys immediately and silently formed a ring, on the outer edge of which were massed all the men who had been outside, and who came pouring in like flies before a shower. No one squatted or hugged the wall, for it was understood that these two men fought only with knives, so the spectators were in a state of abject safety.

The Judge, after settling for the drinks, turned, and saw for the first time his enemy.

"Hello, Billy!" said he, pleasantly; "let's take a drink first."

Billy, who was a red-haired man, with a snapping-turtle mouth, but not a vicious-looking man for all that, briefly replied, "All right," and these two determined enemies clinked their glasses with the unconcern of mere social drinkers.

But, after this, they proceeded promptly to business; the Judge, who was rather slow on his guard, was the owner of a badly cut arm within three minutes by the barkeeper's watch, but not until he had given Billy, who was parrying a thrust, an ugly gash in his left temple.

There was a busy hum during the adjustment of bets on "first blood," and the combatants very considerately refrained from doing serious injury during this temporary distraction; but within five minutes more they had exchanged chest wounds, but too slight to be dangerous.

Betting became furious--each man fought so splendidly, that the boys were wild with delight and enthusiasm. Bets were roared back and forth, and when Pentecost, by virtue of his universally conceded authority, commanded silence, there was a great deal of finger-telegraphy across the circle, and head-shaking in return.

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