“Anyhow,” I said, “let’s get out of this, and then we’ll camp for the night. I’m as tired as a dog, and can hardly stick in my saddle.”
“Why not camp here?” says Vermudyn with a laugh. “Who’s afraid?”
“I’m not—if that’s what you mean,” I answered; “but I’d rather camp outside.”
“A good two miles of bad riding,” said he quietly. “Why shouldn’t we content ourselves with a snug corner of the rocks, where we can shelter from the wind? As far as I can make out, there’s brush and litter enough for a fire, and we’ve got a bait for our horses.”
‘While he talked and argued, I grew more and more tired, exactly as if I had ridden a hundred miles without drawing rein. It seemed then as if I didn’t care what came next, so long as I could roll myself up in my blanket and snooze, so I answered short enough: “Have your own way. The place is ours, I reckon, as much as it is other folk’s.”
“The pixies and demons, you mean,” laughed Vermudyn. “I know all the miners’ tales! Never fear. I dare wager we shall see nothing worse than ourselves, if we stop for a month of Sundays.—Did you ever hear,” he went on, “of the White Witch of the Panniken? She should meet us hereabouts, if all tales be true. She waits for lonely travellers, and shows them gold in the rock where gold never was in daylight; and if a man is tempted, for the gold’s sake or hers, to spend the night with her, he’s never seen or heard of in this world again. She feasts him with the sight of big nuggets and her own beauty, while she sucks his heart’s blood like the vampyre; and when his body is drained to the last drop, he is flung aside among the rocks or dropped in some dark gully; and she comes back to watch the road for a fresh prey.”
“I’ve heard of the White Witch many a time; but I never knew the rights of the story until to-night,” said I. “But witch or no witch, we’ll have to stop; the road grows harder, and my horse seems to stumble at every step. It’s so dark, too, I can hardly see my hand before my face; yet it seemed almost daylight when we rode into the gorge.”
“The pair of us will be too many for the White Witch, anyhow,” said Vermudyn. “Too much human society don’t agree with her ghostly constitution.”
‘We had stopped together, and I was just going to get off my horse, when Vermudyn sang out in a hurry: “I see a light!—there to the left. Let’s ride up. We may find a party forced to camp out like ourselves; or they may be Injuns; and any company is better than none to-night.”
“Right enough,” says I, rubbing my eyes. “There is a light, and a pretty strong one too; a steady light, mate, and not a Will-o’-the-wisp. I never heard before of white man or Injun daring to camp in the Devil’s Panniken.”