Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 205) (1881 06 28)
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Hatalatalallalslall Se Yin fags SN sr NU : , W A t Ww y \ \ \ \3 EMEA Li me es OE we ee \ va AS ° - AN AN » ao! sl a i a fit! $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. Copyrighted in 1881 by BEADLE AND ADAMS, June 28, 1881. ——— 5 : “= Ss - (a Dl iil anki aera 22) i Dt ie Single PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, Price, Vol. VIII. Number. No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. 5 Cents. No. 205, rH ———— $$ $$$ $$$ + ee DEADWOOD DICK'S DOOM: or, CALAMITY JANE’S LAST ADVENTURE. AUTHOR OF ‘‘ DEADWOOD DICK” NOVELS, ‘‘ ROSEBUD ROB” NOVELS, “ GILT-EDGED DICK,” ‘“‘ BONANZA BILL,” ETC., ETC. fe ‘er ‘ - > ¢ 6 air AD TF wes ee Ty Sor ~ - - 4 wAde « Sew ant — ~ zo ew eat ilar ra ; eer = er THEN, WITH VICTORIOUS SHOUTS, THE ROUGH CROWD STRODE AWAY, AND DEADWOOD DICK SUNK GRADUALLY INTO THE YIELDING SAND, TO HIS HORRIBLE DOOM.
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2 ‘Deadwood Dick's Doom; Calamity Jane's Last Adventure. A TALE OF DEATH NOTCE. 3¥Y EDWARD L. WHEELER, AUTFOR OF ‘‘ DEADWOOD DICK” NOVELS, ‘‘ ROSE- BUD ROB” NOVELS, ‘‘ WILD FRANK,” ETC,, ETC, CHAPTER I. TOO LATE FOR THE STAGE, Dratu Norcnu! Did you ever hear a more uninviting mame fora place, dear reader? If so, you could not well find a harder hole, where dwelt hu- manity than Death Notch, along the whole golden slope of the West. It was said that nobody but rascals and roughs could exist in that lone mining camp, which. was. confirmed by the fact that it was seldom the weekly stage brought any one there, who had come to settle. Even the Govern- ment officials, cognizant of the lawlessness within the borders of Death Notch, hesitated to interfere, because of the desperate character of the residents—hardest of the hard. The town lay in a sort of mountain-sur- rounded basin, on the route from Pioche, Ne- vada, to Helena, Montana, and had formerly been an Indian camp, until a ‘“ well-heeled ” but notorious young gambler named Piute Dave had come along and driven the reds away, as he was able to do, having a backing of some forty ruffians of his own stamp. There being but a comparative handful of the reds, they had been scattered, when Piute Dave and his gang went to prospecting, and in a short time discovered paying dirt. Since that the population had gradually in- creased to a hundred and fifty people, nearly all of the ruffian type, and all under the order ef the man, Piute Dave, who ruled asa king over the others. In the days when the Indians had held pos- session, the town had been called Sequoy; af- terward it bad been named Golden Eagle, until a few months past, when, by vote, it had been re-christened Death Notch. Of course there was a reason for this—a reason both peculiar and striking. When the Indians had been driven forth, their chief, Red Hatchet, had declared ven- geance upon the pale-face intruders, and cursed the town, vowing to kill off every pale-face who should enter it, and to mark each death by a notch upon the council-pole. This pole was a tall young pine that grew just at the edge of the town, and around which it had been the custom of the tribe to hold eouncil. Nor had the chief lied. For several years he and the members of his tribe had waged warfare upon the usurpers, and a score or more had bit the dust, and a notch upon the council-tree had recorded each stroke of vengeance. But, as Piute Dave constantly added new roughs to his gang, the Indians also gradually diminished, until no more death notches had appeared upon the tree. This state of affairs had continued until about three weeks before our story opens, when a placard had been found tacked to the council- ‘tree, bearing the following message: “Beware! Red Hatchet is not yet gone the way of his forefathers, but lives to wreak vengeance upon the town of Death Notch. In the interval of ence he has only been recruiting his fury. ‘“ReD HaTcHET.” With the name, “ Death Notch,” Piute Dave seemed strangely impressed, and at once or- dered that the town of Golden Eagle be hence- forth known as Death Notch. Death Notch gloried in one important fact— that it was the midway stage station between Helena and Pioche, and the terminus of two stage lines. All traffic from Pioche to Helena, Deadwood Dick’s Doom. or vice versa, had to be transferred at Death Notch from one stage or freight line to an- other, As a result, the arrivals and departures of stages being very irregular, it was a common thing for passengers or freight to be laid off at Death Notch for a number of days. It was a delay that very few relished, who knew the bad repute of the place, but there was no help for it, except for passengers to go on afoot throug a howling wilderness, The Wednesday’s stage of the second week of September whirled down into Death Notch about noon, from the mountain trail, and drew up before the * Poker House,” with a noisy rumble—for the Poker House was the only hostelry afforded transient patronage at Death Notch. “Change keers fer Helena!” yelled out Buck Piper, the driver, and then he threw the rib- bons to one of several blear eyed-looking pil- grims who were standing in front of the tavern sunning themselves, and made for the “ licker ” department, io moisten his throat, leaving his “fares” to take care of themselves, There were but two passengers to-day, and they at once disembarked from the stage, upon the plank walk in front of the Poker House. They were widely at contrast, in appearance, though evidently traveling comyanions, the one being a pretty young lady, while the other was a long-geared, loosely constructed cclored man, of the ‘darkest ray serene.’ The young lady evidently was not over seven- teen or eighteen years of age, but was the possessor of a fine figure, and prettily chiseled features, set off by starry black eyes, and wavy brown hair. She was attired with a long ulster duster over her dress, a silk scarf about ber throat, anda vailed hat upon her head, and was by all odds the trimmest little craft that had anchored in Death Notch in many a day. The darkey was a very sable individual, with a genuine negro physique from the thick- lipped mouth of huge dimensions, to the roll- ing ludicrous eyes, and light curling hair. His feet, too, were of extraordinary size, while the rest of his person seemed hastily constructed and lose jointed, in the extreme. He was attired in wide-legged plaid panta- loons, too short at the waist and feet, by half a foot; a white vest, and white shirt with wide cuffs and collar, a swallow-tailed coat cut tight at the waist, and a white silk hat some- what the worse for bad usage. In his hand he carried a bag containing an instrument shaped very much like a banjo, while the young lady carried a small hand sachel, On leaving the stage-coach the strangely contrasted pair paused a moment as if in doubt which way to go, and the young lady turned to one of the low-browed, villainous-looking pilgrims lounging on a bench before the tavern. “Can you tell me, sir, how long before the stage will leave for Helena?” she asked, ina pleasant voice, ““No, mum, I reckon not,’ the addressed party said, ‘‘’ca’se how I don’t kno’. Thar comes Hank Shakespeare, the poet, however—mebbo he kin put ye onter what yer wanter know.” And he indicated a tall, raw-boned individ- ual who was approaching—a man who looked as though he might be the possessor of a great deal of brute strength and dogged courage, especially the latter, for he was swarthy and ugly of countenance, wearing a stubble of beard and long matted hair, while his brows were shaggy and his eyes evil and bloodshot. He was attired in stogy boots, dirty patched overalls and overshirt, a battered, shapeless ‘plug’ hat, minus the rim, while in a belt about bis waist he wore four large-sized revol- vers and a bowie. Anytbing but a poet, looked the big bull- whacker, and the young lady was discussing doubt, this when he came up, and paused to take a survey of her and the coon. “Hello! anigger and a gal, hey! Waal, *Let’s all shout an' rejoice! We heer a female's voice.’ a ye eee How’dy do, mum! Goin’ ter settle here? We’re jest needin’ a woman, in this hyar camp, ’ca’se how, ye see, when ther b’yees wanter go courtin’ they’ve got ter court one another.” ‘‘No, I am not going to settle here,” the young woman replied, quite promptly. ‘I wish to find out what time the stage leaves for Helena?” “ Hell—ener! Why, bless ye, mum, ther next stage won’t go fer a week, I allow, ’ca’se how she started six hours ago. No stage ’fore next Wednesday, sure.” An exclamation of disappointment escaped the young lady. ‘Oh! that is too bad! I wouldn’t have missed reaching Helena for a good deal. Is there no way I can overtake the stage, sir?” ** Reckon not, miss, onless ye hoof et, an’ I opine ye wouldn’t ketch et, then. Ef yer feet war as large as ther nigger’s I reckon ye might do it, for— ‘E’en Dexter could not compete. Wi’ thet fragrant coon’s feet ’— and stand any show o’ winnin’ ther beat, No, mum, I allow yer best holt is ter stop right hyar in Death Notch, till next stage.” ‘*T cannot afford to—it seems I must reach Helena, one way or another. Cannot we hire saddle horses—or purchase them, even—in or- der that we may overtake the stage?” ““Nary a hoss. Ther only thing wi’ four legs, ’cept Piper’s team, is a pair 0’ oxen,” At this juncture the thirsty Piper appeared upon the scene, wiping his mouth from a re- cent lubrication in the shape of a bootleg. ‘Ob! sir, cannot I prevail upon you to take us on until we overtake the Helena stage?’ the girl said, turning to him, appealingly. ‘“ We have an engagement to fulfill, and must be in Helena by Saturday night, or throw it ap!” “Sorry, mum, but my route don’t go no further than heer, an’I can’t accommodate ye!” the worthy Piper piped, taking a chew of tobacco. “But I will pay you for it—Ill give you twenty dollars, if you will put us on board the Helena stage.” **Couldn’t tech me wi’ a hundred dollars, mum, fer I ain’t in need o’ tin. Ye kin git ’commydations at Poker Jack’s ranch, till next week, an’ I allow ef ye kin flip ther boards right purty wi’out hidin’ the ace up yer sleeve, ther boys won’t let ye git lJonesum,” “T don’t thank you for your assurance, sir!” was the haughty raply. ‘Come, Nic, let’s see if we can get a room,” And they entered the cffice, which also served the purpose of bar and gambling room. A score or more of ruffianly looking, fellows were lounging alout, but one among the lot, more prepossessing than the rest, arose and came forward, as the two travelers entered. He was dressed in white woolen garments, with white shirt and collar, slippers upon his feet, and a round red smoking cap upon his head. In form he was of graceful build, while he was not bad-looking in face, except for a habitual wicked glitter of his black eyes, and a faint cynical expression which lurked under his graceful mustache, ‘** Excuse me, but did you wish to see me?” he said, on approaching. “Tf you are the proprietor, yes, sir,” the girl replied, a li‘tle timidly. “Yas, if youb be de boss, we’se gwine ter ax ye, bab youh proper ’commodations for two fust-class gusts?” the darky put in, with 4 considerable amount of airiness. “No! no! not gusts—you mean guests, Nick,” the girl interrupted. “Yas, guests—dat’s it. Without purpoten- tial precontemplation, I accidently absented one bowel from de syllable. You see, boss, as de stage done went off an’ left us, we wants to engaged apartments an’ superlative substance whereon to subsist for sebberal days hencefore- most until:de next vehicle de perigrinates dis yar way.” * Ah! yes, I understand. You wish first- class accommodations, which I can furnish. My name is Poker Jack, at your service, and if
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you will register, I will show you to a couple of rooms,” They accordingly went to a desk and regis- tered their names in a book kept for that pur- pose—the darky as— “Nicodemus Johnsing, Star Comediam;” the young lady as— “Miss Virgie Verner, of New York.” "ben Poker Jack escorted them to a suit of rudely furnished rooms, up-stairs, just over the largo ber and gambling-room. ‘Tf you will be so kind, we would prefer our meals sent to our rooms,” Miss Verner said. ‘As you like, miss. gage?” ‘‘ My baggage will be along on the freight wagon, sir.” hen Puker Jack bowed himself out. After he had gone, the girl called in the darky from the adjoining room, ‘* Nic,” she said, “* we shall bave trouble in this plave, mark my word. All are men here, and the most evil, repulsive-looking lot I ever eame across, “ *Spect you’se right, Miss Virgie, but youh jes’ bet youh life dey doesn’t want to come foolin’ around dis chile, or I'll carve ’em—cut ’em up, bad! l’se sum an’a half, when I’se mad!” “But, allowing that we are both brave, what conld we do against such overwhelming odds, should they offer to harm us? Oh! why did we venture here? We shallsurely be followed by the human bloodhound, my enemy, and God only knows what evil be can do in this place, where the people look capabie of any terrible crime. Oh! I am so tired, so weary of this hunted life.” Have you any bag- .The freight wagon arrived soon after the stage, and unloaded two trunks in front of the Poker House, Upon the end of one was pasted part of a theater bill, which read, ‘‘ Miss Vergie Verner, the charming vocalist and musician.” On the other trunk was the other part of the pro- gramme, reading; ‘‘ Nicodemus Johnsing, ban- joist and dancer.” A crowd of bystanders stood, read, and pon- dered over these littie announcements, Hank Shakespeare among the rest. ‘Yas, sir ee, bobtail hoss, b’yees, them’s a pair o’ show people, goin’ ter Hell-ener, an’ they reckon they kin slight us cusses hyar at Death Notch, by not hevin’ their sarcus heer. - But they ken’t, not fer Jim. I tell ye what! I purpose we trot ’em down inter ther bar-room o’ Poker Jack’s crib, ter-night, an’ mak’em , give us a show, as well as ther fellers at Hell- ener. What d’ye say?” ‘‘ Bulldog Ben barks yes,” a little, disgusting- looking ruffiau cried, and the whole gang ehimed in assent. Therefore, it was as good as settled that something was to occur. CHAPTER II. A COMPACT WITH THE DEVIL'S OWN. AxsouT sunset of that same day, in a lonely gulch leading off from Death Notch, a young girl was wandering along with’ a basket upon her arm, now and then plucking a wild flower, and singing the while in spirit with the merry birds that warbled among the branches of the trees around her. She was'at a glance an Indian, but lighter ,complexioned than the average of her nation, betraying a mixture of white blood in her veins, Attired in the picturesque garb of an Indian princess, she looked decidedly pretty, with her dusky skin, her eyes of midnight color, and long sweeping wealth of wayy raven hair, which fell back below her waist. In keeping with the wild scene around her, was she, and yet happy and free from care as the merry little chipmunk that darted across her path and disappeared in the shrubbery, “* Pretty mountain doves a-cooing, Stu “A robins gone where AM Wonder what all birds are doing, So happy, all, they seem,” Deadwood Dick’s Doom. she sung, as she stopped to pluck a pretty blos- som from its stalk. ‘* And, by the way, little bird, suppose you tell us what you are doing,” a voice exclaimed, and the owner, a tall, well-dressed man, of pre- possessing countenance, and the owner of a monstrous mustache, stepped from a clump of bushes where he had hitherto been concealed. The Indian girl started violently, at sight of him, and would have run away, but he stepped quickly forward and seized her by the arm. ‘‘Hold on! pretty bird! Don’t be scared, I will not harm you!” he said, laughingly. ‘I simply want to have a talk with you,” ** No! no! Siska does not know pale-face; he must let her go.” “But I can’t do that just yet. Come to this log and sit down and answer some questions which I shall ask you, and then I will let you Pu Ping And still retaining a hold of her hand and arm, be forced her to a seat upon a fallen tree, close by. “There,” he said, when they were both seated, ‘Now we’re all prepared for a nice little chat.” The girl did not reply. She was evidently greatly frightened, for she was trembling like a leaf. The stranger noted the fact. “Don’t be afraid, my girl,” he repeated, “Vl not hurt you. Now, to begin with, [ want you to tell me how far it is from here to a place called Death Notch?” **A couple of miles, or so.” “Ah! so near. Well, l’min luck. Now, what is your name?” ‘“*Siska, sir, Please let me go. Red Hatchet would be very angry if be knew I spoke to a pale-face.” ““Oh! he would, eh? So he’s one of thoso rabid old’bucks who is dead set on the white race?” “Red Hatchet is a great warrior, and his anger is to be feared.” ‘* Well, then, when you see him next, tell him to slice me a chunk of it, weighing about half a pound, and send it down to Death Notch. Now, Siska, you seem to be a pretty nice girl —how’d you like to go along with meto Death Notch, an’ keep house fer me, ina snug little ten by twenty?’ “No! no! Siska not like it. She must return to the wigwam of her father.” ‘*Oh! don’t be in a hurry. Tl give youa lot of gold rings and other trinkets if you will go with me—and plenty of money.” ‘No! no!” the girl repeated, impatiently. ‘*Siska not like pale-face—no go with pale- face. Let the Indian girl loose, so that she can return to her father’s lodge.” “Well, then you must give me a kiss, my bird of the wilderness, and you can go.” “No! no! Siska not kiss pale-face,” she an- swered, struggling to release herself. ‘‘ Pale- face bad man, and Red Hatchet be angry at him,” “That don’t matter to me. A kiss I’m going to have before you go, or my name’s not Carrol Carner. So pucker up those pretty lips, my beauty, and submit to the inevitable!” ‘No! no! Help! help!” she screamed, strug- gling so violently that he found it impossible to accomplish his design. “Curse you—you are as strong as a young bear,” he gritted savagely. “Aha! I have you now, though, and now for my kiss!” ‘‘Not by a jugful, stranger!” a stern voice cried, accompanied by rapidly approaching foot- steps, and the next instant Carrol Carner found himself lying at full length upon the ground, while over him stood a handsome fellow, in sportish dress—valiant Deadwood Dick. “Ha! ha!” he laughed, sarcastically —“‘what a figure you cut, now, don’t you, my presuming pilgrim? You reckoned you had this little girl dead to rights, didn’t you, you infernal skunk, because she was alone and un- protected? But, you see, all signs fail, when the wind blows me down!” ry “The devil take you,” Carrol Carner cried, arising to a sitting posture, and rubbing his. cheek where the imprint of Doudwood Dick’s knuckles were yet to be seen. ‘* Who are you, that you have this audacity ?” ‘* A cuss from Custer—a bulldog from Boze- man—a _ diabolical devil from Deadwood,” Dick replied, dryly. ‘I c@on’t carry any visit- ing cards with me, as I generally have a sheriff, or marshal after me who carries them, and posts ’emup in every convenient place, viz:—“‘ Five Hundred Dollars reward tor the capture of the notorious outlaw, Deadwood Dick, dead or alive.’ Seen any of them gentle little reminders, up in this section?” “Tf I had, | should use my own judgment about imparting the information to you,” Car rol growled, arising to a standing position, “T want to know what business you had to strike me.” “The business of being consolidated protec- tive association for the protection of widders. and orphans, an’ weak humans, generally. I found you, an unscrupulous knave, attemipiing to kiss this girl against her will, and I very naturally lost control of my pugilistic mem- bers to that extent that you immediately let ber alone and set down.” “You sha. answer for the insult, sir. I am going to Death Notch. If you take pains to come there also, I'll punish you, severely.” ‘*Karect!” Deadwood Dick assented, with a taunting bow. ‘ You may look for me, to-night, Senator. Be kind enovgh to pedestrianize hence most precipitately, now, will you, as your presence is doubtless very disagreeable to this young lady.” “Yes, 1 go, but remember, you sball yet repent your insult to me!” Carner replied fiercely. “For fear I may forget the admonition per- haps Id best write iti down in my diary,” wae the sport’s parting shot, as the stranger turned and stalked down the gulch. When he had gone from view Dick turned to the Indian girl, who stood a few paces away, regarding bim with surprise in her big black eyes. “There, miss, I’ve banished the snake, and you need have no fear of his harming you,” he said, gallantly. ‘Luck always lets me bap pen along to lay out such reptiles as he.” “Pale face bravo very good, and Siska is grateful to him for driving off the bad pale. face,” the gir] replied, her eyes lighting up, wonderfully, ‘‘Red Hatchet be very glad, when Siska tells bim.” “ Ah! so you are the daughter of the stern. handed chiet, Red Hatchet, are you?” “Tam, What does Deadwood Dick know of Red Hatchet?” “Ob! So you infer that I am Deadwood Dick, eh? Youare sharp! I heard the history of Red Hatchet and Death Notch, before I came this way. I allow Death Notch is a pretty tough town,” “Tts lodges are filled with bad men, and Red Hatchet bas placed a curse upon their heads, and all who enter the town to stay. Surely you are not going there,” “Well, Lreckon so. Thought I’d drop down. that way, see if any one was in trouble, and if, so, help ’em out.” “Then, let Siska give you a token, to al. ways shield you from the vengeance of Red Hatchet or his agents,” and she took a large tin star from her pocket, with a ribbon at. tached to it, and pinned it to Dick’s vest; then, turning, she waved her hand at him, and darted into the forest with the speed of a young antelope. Far up the mountain-side, not noticeable from from Death Notch, yet from where the town was plainly visible, nestling in the basin, was a great projecting crag, the top of which wax a plateau as level as a floor. From the outer: edge of the crag to the yawning abyss among: the mountains was a sheer descent of mayha). five hundred feet, Death Notch was not at the foot of the mountain from which the crag projected, q
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a low range of hills intervening, but was plainly ‘visible from the plateau, with the naked eye, being not over a mile distant on a bee-line. Seated upon a camp stool, on this plateau, on the afternoon of the day which opens our slory, engaged in a survey of the town through a powerful field glass, was an old Indian of bent form and wrinkled features—the wreck of a once great warrior, now almost in his wecond childhood from old age. This was the father of the girl Siska—Red Hatchet. For hours he had sat there, and studied the town through his glass, the varying expres- sions of his countenance and the glitter of his dark baleful eyes proving that a revengeful spirit yet rankled in his breast. “The stage brings two new-comers,” he muttered, in good English, proving that he was not untutored, hke many of his race. ‘One is a young pale-face squaw—the other ason of the South. I wonder what brings them! It cannot be that they know of the curse that yests upon the place and all who enter it.” Then for a long time the outcast chief was silent, but watchful, until a man sauntered along down the street whom he recognized, through the glass, although to the naked eye the man look: d but a pigmy from the cliff. “That is Piute Dave—devil pale-face,” the chief gritted, fiercely. ‘‘Red Hatchet hates lim more than all the rest, and yet he lives and enjoys Red Hatchet’s possessions, heedless of warnings of death and destruction. He knows Red Hatchet is too old and feeble to take the war-path—therefore he defies me. But he shall die—they all shall die, for Red Hatchet has sworn to add new notches to the eouncil-pole—records of the death of those who drove him and his tribe forth from Sequoy, even if he has to hire it dove. Oh! how Red Hatchet hates yonder settlement of pale- faces!” * And why this hatred, red-man? Why this ‘desire to exterminate the people in yonder town? a voice asked, so near to the old chief, that he turned with a startled growl, and be- ucid— Not what might have been correctly termed @ man, but more appropriately a human wild beast, for it had all the appearance of a wild animal, with the dwarfed shape of man. The face wus entirely covered with hair, the head wus hatless, the dwarfed, hump-backed figure was clad in ragged dirty garments; the nails upon the fingers were long and like the talons uf some wild bird. In the eyes there burnt a wild unnatural fire, and the hair upon the head stood in all directions, making the head appear double its real size. Red Hatchet gave vent to a startled grunt at sight of this strange being; indeed, who wouldn’t, for it was not an object calculated to inspire any one with the bravest feelings. ‘Ugh! debbil!” the chief uttered, for that was the nearest thing he could compare the in- truder to, ‘Yes, devil!” the hairy being replied—‘“‘ Old Scavenger, the devil-avenger—the devil dwarf. But, the red chief need not fear. Scavenger harms none but the treacherous whites—those of his own blood and color. The red chief also hauies the pale-faces?” “Ugh! yes—hate ’em because they drove the red-man from his village yonder.” ‘*T understand—I understand,” Old Scaven- gerassented. ‘‘They have wronged me, too, and I madly hate ’em all, I have registered nm oath to spare none—to cut out the hearts vf every white devil I meet. Ha! ha! they thought when they ali united to strike me a last blow, that it would kill me, but it only Lurdened my heart against ’°em. Did the Red Hat-het ever see the heartof a pale-face?” And as he spoke the Demon Dwarf drew from his bunting sack a bloody withered piece of tuman flesh—a human heart, indeed—and held ic aloft with a demoniac peal of laughter. ‘‘That is the heart of the false woman who wedded me for my gold, and deserted me and Deadwood Dick's Doom. my kit, when she had secured it. Oho! but I hunted her down to death, though, and after they had buried her thinking to cheat me out of my vengeance, I dug her up and secured my trophy. Ha! ha! the Dwart’s enough for ’em—the dwarf’s enough for ’em!” Red MHatchet’s eyes sparkled with enthu- siasrn. “Dwarf big heap brave,” he said. ‘Red Hatchet once great brave, but his limbs no longer strong for war-path. He can only meditate vengeance upon his enemies, instead of performing it.” “Red Hatchet should get Old Scavenger to stri:e for him. Wh2n he strikes he strikes to avenge.” ) “Red Hatchet has no gold, or he would readily pay the Dwarf Avenger to add notches to his council-pole in yonder town.” ‘Hal ba! itis not money I want. I have gold in plenty. But Isawa jewel belonging to Red Hatchet, that I would wade through fire or blood to possess—ay! I'd depopulate yonder town until not a pale-face dog remained to usurp Red Hatchet’s rights!” “Tf the Devil Dwarf will do this, Red Hatchet will give him his daughter—if it is to her the pale-face refers.” “To her and none other. Swear to give the girl to me, todo with as I please, and I will agree that for every person now in yonder town, a death notch shall be made.” ‘“‘Red Hatchet agrees. When he can count the death notches of all his sworn enemies, and is free to go back to his once pretty village, he will deliver Siska to the Devil Dwarf to do with as he pleases.” ‘Then call the girl. We will tap a vein in her arm, and seal this compact with a draught of her blood!” the avenger said, Aud an hour later the act was carried out to the letter. Death Notch was doomed! CHAPTER III. THE STRANGERS SING. HANK SHAKESPEARE was one of the ruling spirits of Death Notch, inasmuch as he was the bully over all, and always ripe for a quarrel or & spree, One by one he had worsted each of the resi- dents of the town, down to the captain, Piute Dave, in a fair and square fight, and that fact had by no means lessened his esteem of his own prowess, so that he was never backward about waltzing right into a quarrel, His word, next to that of Piute Dave, was regarded as law, and the majority of the roughs would have followed him incase of a split, rather than the captain, wbo was of even a worse disposition than his bull-dog compan- ion, for he was ever too ready to draw a’ wea- pon and shoot down a fellow at little or no of- fense, Therefore when Shakespeare proposed to have a concert from the newly-arrived song- sters, no one offered demur thereat, because to arouse the ire of the burly bullwhacker, was to give the signal fora fight, ‘‘from the word go.” Therefore after supper, a gang headed by the festive Shakespeare, who had imbibed more ‘* bootlegs ” than was good for accurate locomo- tion, made a precipitate descent into the Poker House, and ordered up the drinks, while tbe poet with his ‘‘smile” in hand, mounted the deal table nearest the bar, and addressed the uncouth assemblage around him: ‘Feller-citizens! Noble representatives of the moral town 0’ Death Notch! It becomes my duty ter rise in front o’ ye like a bellerin’ buff’ler buil ter make an announcement, my noble guzzlers, ’ve a great bit o’ news fer ye. We’re on ther eve o’ a great event. We have in our midst a human phenomenon—as Shakespeare, Sr., sed: ‘A maiden fair wi’ voice like a dream-er, She sings an’ she plays—she’s a reg’lar screamer.’ Yes, ye long-eared pilgrims, yer, umble sar- vint has jest made the diskivery thet Sara Bernhardt Nillson, the famous singer is hyar in Ay, | Death Notch—she who has appeared afore all ther crowned heads o’ Europe an’ Etbiopia. ‘An’ what d’ye think, my noble council- men and tax-payers? What d’ye surmise this distinguished singist purposes ter do? Why! thunderation, sirs! she calculates ter give our critical city o’ Death Notch ther death shake, an’ not open her vocal bugle short o’ Hell-ener. Now, then, my prickly pears o’ ther desert, I rise to promulgate ther extemporaneous ques- tion—aire we ter be snubbed like this? Aire we to becheated out o’ heerin’ ther singist vocalize in our own aristocratic sphere? I say no!—In clarion notes I scream nay! Sum im- mortal poet in past ages hez sed werry skien- tifically— ‘It pleases mortal man ter feast— Musick alone ter soothe ther savage beast;’ an’ hyar’s ther very beast as requires musie ter annoint ther ragged volcanic edge o’ his errupted buzzom. What d’ye say, galoots— shall we invite ther gal ter favor us wi’ some 0’ her fust class tunes?” A cheer was the answer. The idea was favored by all that rough as- semblage, ‘¢Then will I fetch forth ther great warbler from her conservatory!” the bullwhacker cried, and leaping from the table, and drawing a pair of revolvers, he left the room, Up the stairs two steps at a time, he went and rapped at the door of Miss Verner’s room, peremptorily. The young woman opened it, in great sur- prise, her face paling as she saw the great gaunt bullwhacker. ‘“Scuse me, mum,’ he said, bowing, “ but ye see ther b’yees hev found out thet ye’re a singist, an’ they allow thet ther likeliest thing ye kin dois ter come down an’ sing fer ’em. They’re dead fer music, an’ tho, they’re rutber a rough lot, ef ye sing yer purtiest, an’ ther nigger too, I opine you'll be all right.” “@h! sir, you must excuse me,” Virgie cried, in distress, ‘ I cannot sing, to-night— really I cannot.” ‘But ye must, mum, Ye see how ther boys . aire all on ther squi vive ter heer ye vocalize, an’ app’inted meas a delegate ter represent ’em an’ say ef ye don’t waltze down an’ sing fer ’em, I am ter shoot ye on ther spot. Ye perseeve we’re old business, we daisies o’ Death Notch; when a mule gits balky we allus drap him, wi’out any prelimary parley; tharfore, we allow thet ef ye edify us wi’ a few songs, an’ the nigger, too, yer safety will be an as- sured fact, an’ ef ye don’t, we'll hev ter speek fer a parson ter preech yer funeral sermon, ter- morrer.” “Oh! Nic, what shall we do?” Miss Verner said, turnmg to the dariky, pale and trem- bling. ‘‘ What shall we do?” “*Spec’s de bestest t’ing we can do is to gub ’em some music, rather dan git de top of our heads blowed off. Bress dis yar chile ef he’s gwine to git in trouble, when de banjo will git him out. Jes’ you git youh gittar, Miss Vir- gie, an’ ’se araccoon if we can’t stir em up.” ‘*Perhaps you are right, Nic, but I wish we had never come here!” the girl said, as she procured a handsome guitar from her trunk, and then she and the darky, who was armed with a banjo, followed the bullwhacker down the stairs into the crowded bar-room. A loud cheer greeted their advent, from the roffian assemblage, among whom were many of the most bold and lawless despefadoes or. the border—men who had waded in crime and ruffianism all their Jives, and hed Icst all sense of manliness or feeling, further than for their own gratification, “Hyar’s ther stage, mum!” Shakespeare said, indicating the bar-counter. ‘Shall I help ye up.” “‘ You need not trouble yourself,” Virgie re- plied, stepping upon a chair, thence upen a table, and then to the bar, where three chairs had been placed. Nicodemus followed, and likewise the } u!1- whacker, Shakespeare, who bad evidently ; s- sumed the self-appointed position of master of ceremonies, for he arose when the two singers
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were seated, and glanced his audience over, with an important ‘ahem!’ as if to call at- tention to the fact that he was the central figure of the forthcoming entertainment. ““Feller-citerzens,” be began, “this is an awe-inspiring and sublime occasion, when with swelling bosom of pride, I am enabled to pre- sent for your approval ther stars of two coun- tries, Europe and Africa, consolerdated inter one stupendous aggravation. Et does me proud, my noble pack o’ guzzlers, ter represent this great phalanx o’ talent, and in commemo- ration 0’ this great occasion my poetical brain hath conveived a versical offering, which I beg leave ter precipitate at ye, as a prelude o’ ther catwauling immediately ter foller. Et is en- titled ‘ Ther B’iled Shirt,’ an’ was founded on true incerdents.” Then clearing his throat the bullwhacker laid one hand dramatically across his breast and began: “Et war six years ago ter-da When Deadwood, furst, thar struck, A tender-fut from Jarsey Cit’, Togged out in spotless duck. Oh! ye bet he war a gallus pill! Bat ov money, run a-muck! He waltzed inter ther ‘ Flush,’ ker-slap— Ther ‘Flush’ war squar’ fer deal, Tho’ thar war sum who sed thet Pete War up ter sundry steal. But I could never quite believe, Thet Pete would stoop ter ‘ feel.’ Down by their board ther ‘tender’ sat; I see’d *twer desprit in his eye, As on his snow-flake kids he spat An’ sed—‘‘ Wi’ me it’s rocks or—die!"’ An’ tho’ no pig-tail cuss war he I thort o’ poor Bill Nye. Sez he ter Pete—his words war low— “*Old pards, I’m broke—I hev no ‘ dirt;’ But I’m so dry—give me a show— Jest Bo a V. ag’in’ my shirt— Et’s b’iled an’ clean, so don’t be mean; Ter lose et, would my feelin’s hurt.’ The keerds was split upon ther ‘ put’ An’ dealt—the tender he war low, Fer Pete he held an orful hand, An’ scooped his jags 0’ ev’ry show. He raked a trick Fer every throw. We laid the tender-fut ter rest; O’ arsenic he’d tuck a bow]; He lost ther b’iled shirt from his breast, An’ then hed sought another goal. We did ther ‘ white,’ ye see, at best— We chucked him in a ‘ prospect hole!’ ”’ A tremendous cheer greeted the conclusion of the bullwhacker’s recitation, for the senti- ment of the rude effusion hit the rough audi- ence in a tender spot. Any man guilty of wearing a b’iled shirt, had no sympathy from them, no matter what his troubles. ‘Now we'll hear from the nigger!” Shake- speare said, jumping down from his counter, among the crowd. “After ther nigger, the gal.” “‘T’se no niggah, sah!” Nicodemus retorted, arising and glaring down at his audience. “Tse Nicodemus Johnsing, a cullud gentle- man.” This elicited a roar of laughter, but when the darky took hold of the banjo and began to ‘pound’ it in a wonderfully scientific man- ner, accompanying the music with burlesque songs, he held his audience spellbound. No such banjo playing had they ever heard or seen, for he would toss the homely instru- mept and catch it again without interrupting the current of his playing, and besides his songs were laughable and original absurdities, well rendered. Encore after enccre greeted his artistic ef- forts, and each time he responded with some- thing a little better. It was during the darky’s playing that the door opened and a new-comer strode into the room. A murmur of “The Captain” and “ Piute Dave” passed among those who noticed his en- ‘trance, and several nodded to him, and then toward Miss Vernon, who sat beside her sable companion, with a pale face, and eyes that flashed with indignation at being thus forced to serve as a staring block for a crowd of ruf- fians, who had neither pity nor respect for womankind, Deadwood Dick’s Doom. Piute Dave was fully on a par with his townsmen, as far as being villainous-looking was concerned. He was a tall, heavy-set man of some five-and-thirty years, and looked like one whom it would be hard to handle, in a struggle. In face he was dark, bloated and sinister, with shaggy brows, cold gray eyes of evil ex- pression, a sensual mouth shaded by a bristling black mustache, and a thick neck and chin, the latter ornamented with a slight goatee. He was attired in knee-boots, light-colored trowsers, red shirt open at the throat, cordu- roy jacket, and wide rimmed hat, while a belt about his waist contained a brace of hand- somely trimmed revolvers. He paused not far from the door, and with his hands thrust in his pockets, fixed his gaze upon.the girl upon the bar—a gaze intense in its evil significance. Virgie felt it, by some instinct, and turned to glance at the man—met the gaze, and then shudderingly averted her eyes. Terrible to her, though, were the glances of the others, the eyes of this man sent a thrill of horror through her being. Sbe felt that in him she had a designing villain to cope with— and she was not wrong. Piute Dave was a villain—a fierce, self-willed ruffian, who hesitated at no dark and terrible deed that would further his purpose. More than one of those who bad come to Death Notch to avoid Judge Lynch’s noose, had fallen by his hand, for a trivial offense, and there was not a man in the town who did not stand in fear of him, even including the poetical Shakespeare, After his singing nearly a dozen different comic songs, the auuience seemed to grow tired of Nicodemus, and a call was made for the girl to sing. ‘*Yes, gal, let’s heer frum you,” the bull- whacker ordered, rubbing his hands together, greedily. ‘‘You’re ther very nightingale w’at our ears acheth to hear. Give us a sorter o’ Methodist Church tune—suthin’ what’ll make us feel solemncolly, like. As my late lamented namesake, Shakespeare, bas been known on severial occasions to remark: ‘Ketch a bird on ther wing, And force it ter sing, An’ all in gud time, You'll hev music sublime,’” Virgie saw that there was nothing left for her to do but to comply with the demand of her rough audience, as she was alone, with the exception of Nick, among strangers, and with- out defense, She had already made up her mind to get through the concert as best she could, and af- terward attempt to escape from the town. Therefore, tuning her guitar, which was a fine-toned instrument, she selected a ballad from her repertory, entitled—‘‘My Dear Old Mo- ther’s Face,” and sung it through in a sweet, pathetic voice. Every man in the room stood in utter silence as though spellbound, until she had fin- ished, when there was a tremendous outburst of applause. Rude and uncouth though the auditors, they could but appreciate the beauti- ful song, heartily. *‘Hip! hip! hooray! three jeers for ther bar schangled spanner! bow! wow! wow!’ at this juncture bellowed Bulldog Ben, elbowing for- ward from the vicinity of a temporary bar, where he had been imbiding numerous “ boot- legs.” ‘‘Thet war splendiferous, old gal; thet war—a reg’lar old hymn right frum Halifax, barketh I, Bulldog Benjamin, ther majestic mastiff o’ Death Notch. Sweeter by far than ary essence o’ eslysium war thet old song about my old mother. I can now see her s’archin’ fer her inebriate son, along ther shady banks o’ ther Mississippi, you bet, an’ ef evyer I did a noble act in my life I’m goin’ ter kiss yer fer remindin’ ther Bulldog of his old mam —bow! wow! wow! barketh I!” And the ruffian bounded nimbly upon the bar! Virgie sprung to ber feet with a cry of horror, but before the wretch could lay a hand upon her there was the sharp crack of a revolver, and he fell, bleeding, at her feet. Se 5 ———— NEES panoeennennstiete Linen amsionmanennanasnnceasanneenssenattenearienanencenaenseenetonnttiiahan smite, CHAPTER IV. DEADWOOD DICK’S DOOM. Ir had taken less time to enu the lite of the - ruftian than it has to relate the occurrence, fur the bullet entering his heart, he had expired almost as soon as he dropped. For a moment afterward you could have heard a pin drop in the great bar-room of the Poker House, so great was the intensity of the silence caused by the shooting. Then came words to the hearing of all— words, in a strange sbrill voice, whose signifi- cance was plain to all within the room, except Virgie and Nick— “Oho! Death Notch 47, and still the spirit of Red Hatchet calls for vengeance. Piute Dave shall count seventy, and Deadwood Dick five more, Ha! ha!” Then there was a strange wild peal of laugh- ter without the tavern, that chilled the biood of every one who heard it, so fearfully sugges- tive of a demon’s triumph it was. Not a man within the tavern made a move. to discover the author of the laugh-infernal and of Bulldog Ben’s death. Even Piute Dave’s swarthy visage assumed a; grayish pallor, as be heard the words of the avenger, and he moved not from his tracks, Shakespeare, the poetical bullwhacker, wes. the coolest man in the house, and that awong. men who were habitually bard-hearted anu possessed of a sort of brute courage on such oc- casions, 7 ‘Pop goes ther weasel, an’ thar’ll be another- notch on the council-pole!” he observed, drag-. ging the body of Bulldog Ben upon bis shoulder and dumping it in an obscure corner of the. room. “ Bulldog’s gone on his last long canine cir- cuit, an’ I allow I’ll hev ter compose a doggera? on his kerflumex, or an epidemic for his tomb stone. How’d this be, fer instance: ‘“* Poor Bulldog Ben, he barked, and then— He jumped the bar, accordin’; Thar waz a shot—Ben tuk ther pot, And anteed over Jordan.” But the poet did not get an encore on this effusion, inasmuch as his auditors were in na humor for anything but strong prose. ‘Enough of this nonsense,” Piute Dave said, striding forward. ‘Don’t you see that you are all offering yourselves as targets for this. secret avenger, whoever he may be? I?!) take charge of the girl myself, an’ ye can do as ye want with the nigger. Come, young woman —there’s room fer sech a purty one as you at my cabin, an you’re mine,” ‘“Oh! no! no! I cannot, will not go with, you!” Virgie cried, clinging to Nick, in tears and despair. ‘“‘ Please let us alone, sir! We are two strangers to all of you, and all we asi is to leave this place unmolested.” “Can’t help that, girl. Piute Dave don’t often take a second look at a gal, but when he does, he invariably has her, ef he wants her. So you might as well tumble down from that bar and waltz along wi’ me at once, fer | allow I’m boss of this town—an’ things hes allus got ter go to suit my notion!” “But, jes youh look a-yar, now, sah!” cried Nicodemus, drawing himself to full hight, and striking a dramatic pose, with upliited arm. ‘*“Youb surely forget de culimnating fact dat dis yar lady am my protegee, an’ I'se swear’d by de plant’s in de heabens to purteect her wid de las’ drop ob my royal blood—yas, sah—dem’s ’righty trufes, sah, an’ if you lay a fumb on dis yar young lady’s pussom, PNR draw de razzor from my bootleg an’ cut youk wide open—yas I will, fc’ suah! Oh! I’se bad, when I’se shampooved—I’se a wade—an,’— butcher barber, ‘sah !” “Ho! ho!” Piute Dave laughed, hoarsely. “Tf it wasn’t fer frescoin’ Poker Jack’s floor wi’ yer black gore, ’'d blow your brains out, you black cuss. Come, girl! aire ye goiw ter. somersault down from that bar, or shali come an’ help ye?” “Oh! spare me—spare me, sir. Oh! my». God, is there no one here to help me?” the poca girl sobbed.
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6 ‘“‘Nary a durned galoot, my gal!” Piute Dave declared, with a triumphant chuckle. “As I allowed, before, I’m boss o’ this burg, an’ thar ain’t a man hyar as durst lift a hand to help ye, when I’m around.” “Wou lie, you brute! and if you but lay a hand on that girl, I’ll bore a hole in your thick skull!” a voice suddenly cried. The owner of the voice was Deadwood Dick! While Piute Dave was speaking, he had quietly slipped into the room, and now stood mounted upon a chair, but a few paces in the former’s rear, with a pair of cocked 32’s in his grasp. Piute Dave wheeled with a frightful oath, as he heard the words, with his hands upon the butts of his own revolv ers, but he desisted from drawing them when he saw that his new opponent had “the drop. “Who are you!’ he demanded, savagely, “and what d’ye mean by meddling in my business?” “Tmean that if you offer that girl the least molestation, lil make you up into a perforated porous plaster quicser than a Dutchman can say beer!” the sportive Dick announced, with the utmost assurance and sang-froid. “As to my dramatis persone, you may recognize me by the gentle and psalm-like title of Richard Harris, or Edward Harris, or Deadwood Dick, or any other name you like— Deadwood Dick being my pet titular appurte- nance, when I’m wanted by the sheriff, and so- forth and so-forth.” “You Deadwood Dick?” Piute Dave ex- claimed, in surprise; and he was not the only one to whom the noted title was apparently fa:niliar. “Yes, I am Deadwood Dick, the celebrated cuss from Custer clime—the diabolical devil- may-care devotee of road-agency, from Dead- wood—the hunted burricane, Harris, just as you see me. And according to a recent act of Congress, if you or any other two-legged indi- vi ual attempts to harm yonder girl, whoever she may be, I'll agree to furnish him a free pess over Jordan by the most direct ethereal line, I mean business, so let some pilgrim of enterprising disposition open the market. Young lady, you may descend from the bar, and go to your room, or home. T’ll agree to tulke care of any number of these cusses who mcy attempt to prevent you!” “Go at your peril, girl!” Piute Dave growled, in arage, watching a chance to draw a weapon. ‘Curses on you, boys, why don’t you pull yer tools, and kill this devil’s donkey?” “Reckon we know our biz, boss,” the bull- wacker, Shakespeare, declared, knowingly. * \Ve allow our pelt is wuth jest as much per c-w-t, as yourn, an’ we ain’t in noways dis- pored ter venture a cruise in unknown regions, je 5 on account o’ one ghal. As brother Byron uster say: “ Hang on ter terra firmer; Tho’ incumber *d bad wi’ tax, Et’s cool an’ very cumfer table As compare d wi’ Hale arfax; An’ tho’ beseeged at ev'ry turn Wi’ mother-’n-laws an’ maids, Ye'll find et enough sight better Than a good warm berth in Hades,’ ” ** You’re cowardly dogs, every one o’ you} Vill you let one man bluff ye, when thar’ forty o’ ye to his one? Look, the girl is going to escape! A hundred dollars to the man who stops her!’? “Vl take it!” a ruffian shouted, and he leaped toward the bar, from which Virgie was about descending, to stop her. “* And you'll get it!” Dick cried, as he fired, then instantly returned the aim of his weapon to the crowd. With scarcely a groan, the ruffian fell head- long to the floor—not dead, as was afterward proven, but stunned by the bullet grazing his skull, A murmur of protest ran through the crowd, but not another hand was raised in opposition to the Dakotain’s will. Piute Dave alone ut- te: ed a fearful oath, Yow see I hola cLe every -4. pv,” Harris spotier, chac trumps at remarked. ‘When I Deadwood Dick’s Doom. peregrinate into a town I always try to impress upon the minds of the citizens, first of all, the fact that I am able to clean out the hull town, single-handed, and able to stand up in defense of the weak and unprotected every day in a week, and as many times on Sunday as the hymn-book orders, There! the young lady has gone. Now, gents, what’s the damage? I’m willing to settle. One tough laid out, and a broken window glass, besides a ruffle upon the personal pride of our friend here, Piute David. What’s the expense, David?” “Your life!” the captain cried, bis rage in no wise diminished. “Tl cut your heart out,” “Oh! now, really, David, you would not re- hearse the tragedy of David and Goliab, would you! You wouldn’t amputate my pulsometer would you, just to satisfy your revengeful spirit?’ “Yes, curse you! But give me advan- tage of the ‘drop’ you’ve got, and I’llshow you what kind of a man Piute Dave is.” ‘““Indeed! I am to infer, then, that you are something like a concentrated voleano, done up in a dynamite torpedo, and when you're touched off you scatter death and destruc- tion in the forty directions of a blizzard! I had no idea you were so ferocious, or I should have fainted, hours ago. Tell you what Ill do, though, David. If your thermometer indicates that your steam has attained such momentum that there is danger of your exploding, Ill give you a chance to work off a little of your superfluous wrath. You appear to be a pretty muscular chap and I flatter myself I have sufficient for usual cases of emergency. Therefore, we will clear the center of the room; you take a position at one end—I at the other. Then we will each start for each other, weaponless, and have a rough and tumble scufile for the mastery—the winner to take the position as boss of the town —the loser to be given one hour to leave it, never to return, except under penalty of death by shooting, at sight. Now, then, how does that strike you?” ‘*T'll accept the proposition,” Piute Dave said, with a horrid laugh. ‘It won’t take me long to break your neck.” “Well, for your sake, I hope not,” Dick re- torted, with asmile. ‘ First, however, I want to know that there will be no interference from the crowd—” “Tl tend ter thet, young feller,” Shakes- peare declared. “I'll see thet everything goes squar’.” “*T have a plan as fair for one as the otber!” Piute Dave said, a villainous glitter in his evil eyes. ‘‘ A few rods up the gulch is a bottomless bed of quicksand. The weight of a man will sink him there in five minutes, forever out of sight, and nothing he can do can help him when once he is in it; it has gulped down many a dead body an’ some live ones, too, so it’s jest the hole for a death-struggle. I propose that we go to the edge of this treacherous pocket, and the man who is strong enough to throw his op- ponent into it shall be the victor, while the vic- tim shall be left to sink in the sand to his : death.” “That suits me, exactly,” Deadwood Dick responded. ‘As soon as the man is thrown into the pocket, the spectators shall march away, chanting his death requiem. Is this perfectly understood?” “T understand. I allow ther boys does,” | Piute Dave grunted. ‘*On course we do!” declared the loquacious bullwhacker poet. ‘‘Jest as soon as one or other o’ yer is kerflopped inter thet death’s hole, we’re ter start pell-mell fer ther Poker House an’ moisten our bugles, perparatory ter singin’ ther Death March o’ Solomon!” ‘*Correct! Let’s adjourn to the field of ac- tion,” Deadwood Dick said. “I came here expecting to run into difficulty, and 1’m not the chap to turn tail and back out because of a slight unpleasantness, By the way, if any of you fellows know any thing favorable of cis big loater Ya suggest that now wilt be 2 good time to recall them befcre we plant nim; SS EE ER SR REE ST SRS RT SR AT TS RE NT STI EAE OEE aS a sa nT after he is dead and gone you'll not care to remember him,” Piute Dave madea move to draw a weapon, but saw that Deadwood’s dauntless representa- tive was still on guard, and so desisted. “Come! no funny business, now,” Dick ordered, ‘‘but lead the way if you want to furnish me a sepulcher of quicksand. Tm anxious to know who is going to draw the prize in this lottery.” Piute Dave led the way from the tavern, Deadwood Dick went next; then the _ buall- whacker poet and his uncouth associates brought up the rear, in single file. A strange looking procession they made as they thus marched down the street, under the ligbt of a soaring full moon. Virgie Verner saw them from the window of her room, and wondered what was going to happen. “They are going to hang the brave fellow who came to my rescue!” she gasped, in hor- ror. ‘God forbid!” Down the street to the western terminus of the town Piute Dave piloted the way, and they soon came to a dark-looking verdureless spot that every experienced eye knew to be a quicksand pocket that it was sure and inevit- able death to touch, This was the place of struggle. Deadwood Dick threw off his jacket, to one side, and deposited his weapons upon it. Piute Dave gave his revolvers to the bull- whacker, but did not remove his coat, evi- dently not deeming it necessary. The two men then walked ten paces in oppo- site directions, turned, and at the word “ Go!” given by one of the bystanders, rushed to meet each other. It was not until they were within arm's reach, that Deadwood Dick discovered that the ruffian had a smull dagger in his grasp. Too late! They clinched and struggled, and the blade entered Dick’s left arm rendering it perfectly powerless. With the advantage thus gained, it was quick work for Piute Dave to raise his adver- sary and hurl him forward into the mire of the bottomiess bed of quicksand! Then, with victorious shouts, the rough crowd strode away, and Deadwood Dick sunk gradually into the yielding sand, to his horri- ble doom. —————————— CHAPTER V. $500 REWARD; AND “CALAMITY” ON DECK. On returning to the Poker House from their moonlight excursion to the remarkable duel, these wild men of Death Notch found that they had another stranger, still, in their midst —the individual once before described as Car- rol Carner, He had ridden into the place, registered and’ put up at the Poker, and was just engaged in tacking up a placard against the wall, as the crowd swarmed in, headed by victovious Piute Dave, and his right hand man, the buill- whacker. Poker Jack’s face bore rather a disappointed expression, when he saw that Piute had come back in place of Deadwood Dick. He bad hoped and expected it would be the other way, for though there was no declared war- fare between them, they hated each other cordially, and calculated that the quickest man at pulling a ‘pop’ would eventually be the death of the other. Which one it remained to be told. The man, Carner, went on tacking up his placard, and when he had finished, stepped back to inspect his work. The placard was a press-printed poster, im big | type, and bore the following announce- ment: ee “$500 REWARD! “The above reward will be paid for the captur and delivery to the undersigned, of a wandering gi) calling herself Virginia Verner, but whose rea 7 name is Myrtle Morris. She is accompanied by 2 negra arene mn, and is wanted for the crime -: |} muras a ~2R0L JARNER, Guardian.”
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SMI TS ae LO ad Dave read the notice over and over, and then took a good Jook at the man who had posted it. ‘““T allow ye won’t be apt ter find yer gal, hyer, Cap!” he said gruffly. ‘‘ We don’t allow of no petticoaters in this hyar town.’ “Ob! you don’t,” Carner said, with imper- turbable composure. ‘‘ Well, it won’t do no harm to advertise, and make sure. Indeed, I am pretty positive the girl is in this town.’ “D’ye mean thet?” Piute demanded, angrily drawing a pistol. ‘* Ht ain’t healthy for any pilgrim to doubt the word of Piute Dave. ‘¢ Experience has taught me not to ma any man till I’ve tested him,” was the un- flinching answer. ‘‘ My sentime nt applies no more to you than to the rest. If you gents ever indulge, you'll find I have an open ac- count at the bar.” ‘Drink, stranger? Waal, I should cough up a cat!” exclaimed the disciple of Shakespeare, executing a hop-skip- and-jump. ‘Ef evyera thirsty throng o’ theologians thrived in this terrible kentry , we’re ther ones. Drink? On course we will; bootlegs an’ eye-openers by ther dozen will we Gispense in honor of meet in’ ye, at yer expense, an’ don’t ye fergit it, nuther. Waltz up, thirsty pilgri ims, an’ inun- date yer desert waists wi’ prime old ‘ rib-tick- ler! Irrigate your parched an’ arid systems wi’ ther :mbrosial nectar o’ s. d. f. r.—sure death at forty rods. As ther immortoil Shake- speare used ter remark: A ‘gilt- edge’ jest before breakfast, ‘A sealskin: yer dinner ter settle, ee horn- -an’-a-‘alf, be fore supper, An’ a ‘ night-cap ’ ter put on yer mettle.’ ‘‘ Drink, stranger? On course we will, an’ I'll take a good straight ‘ coffin-nail,’ fer mine, wi’ a bumble-bee or a wassup in it, to give et life i? And they did drink, toa man, with the ex- ception ef Piute Dave, who erufily refused, Watching his opportunity he left the bar- room, unnoticed, and went up-stairs. At the door of Virgie’ s room he knocked softly—more like a woman’s knock it was, than that of a man, “‘ Who is there?” Virgie asked, from within, in a tone whose accents betokened alarm. “Who are you, and what do you want?’ ‘OSh! Lama stranger to you, but if you value your personal safety, open the door!” the villain answered in a feigned voice; then, as he heard her unlock the door, he chuckled to himself to see how cleverly he had succeeded, until— The door partly opened, and he found Virgie standing in the aperture with a cocked revol- ver in her hand. “T thought it was you,” she said with moro composure than she had yet manifested. ‘‘ Now that you are here, you villain, what do you want?’ “You're devilish independent, all at once! Piute Dave said, in surprise. ‘** Because I've got the drop on you!” Virgie retorted. ‘‘I find that he’s best who gets aim first, in this delectable country, and according- ly, I'm ready for you, sly as you were. What do you want, I say?” “T want to come in. [ve important news for you. ‘There’s a man down stairs who wants ye, at about five dollars a pound!” Virgie gave a gasp, and her face turned ale. : ‘‘ Who?” she demanded, though she could have told without asking. ‘Let me come in, if you want to know,” Piute Dave said, grimly. ‘‘ Awhile ago ye spurned the fr iendship of yours truly; now, mebbe, with a wolf howling upon yer scent, ye'll be glad ter accept of it.” “ Between tha bite of a wolf and a rattle- snake, I have no choice!” Virgie retorted, de- cisively, “‘and therefore, if you have anything to communicate, you can do it from where you are, or not at all.” ‘Curse you! Then you prefer surrendering to the man down-stairs, rather than accept of “ny pe otection, ch? 9) “T shall not surrender, nor accepu your pro | nor dic. teetion!” Virgie resvonded. “Tf I am attack- ____ Deadwood Dick’s Doom. ed, I shall od, T ehatf Bight a till I see that there is no hope, and then kill myself!” ‘““Pooh! words are cheap! Listen, and Ill tell you what is the most likely thing ter ye to do, as things nowstand. This enemy o’ yourn, who calls himself Carrol Carner, don’t know, yet, thet you're heer, an’ ther boys knows their biz, an’ won’t give it away, as long as I say nay. Now, jest you marry me, an’ [ll go down an’ slit your enemy’s weazs und, an’ that’ ll put an end ter the matter. See?’ ‘IT comprehend your magnanimous offer, but emphatically decline. When in need of a husband, I shall selett a man—not a wolf, in the guisa of man, You may inform Carrol Carner of my presence here, if you like, and tell him, also, that I have been taking daily practice with the revolver, lately, and I shall take advantage of the first opportunity to blow his brains out. Go, now, or |’ll open up prac- tice on you. Go! I say; I mean biz!” And judging by the flash of her eyes, he con- cluded she was in dead earnest, and took as few steps as possible to carry him out of range of her weapon. Baffled and savage, he descended the stairs to the street, to cool off his passion—and con- sider. Villain that he was, he had set his heart on capturing the girl, and making her his wife, and the failure just now but strengthened his determination. Carrol Carner, although he failed to obtain any information from Piute Dave concerning the object of his search, was in no wise dis- cour aged, and made it his business, during the | evening, to ‘pump’ nearly all the roughs in the | saloon, who, taking the cue from Dave, all de- | nied any knowledge ef the girl. This very unanimity strengthened his suspicions, ‘‘Eixcuse me, please, if I refuse to believe | you,” he said, coolly. the declaration that the girl is not here, that I am sure she is here. I demand to see your register, When I registered to night, I neg- lected to look it over to see if there had been any previous arrivals.” “T refuse to let you see tho register,” Poker Jack replied, an ugly flash in his eye as he went on: “T’ll own up that the girl is here, and when you attempt to take ’er away, you’re a dead man—you, or any other two-legged cuss in the town. Tve been watchin’ the way things aire shapin’, ter night, an’ I allow that the gal is pure, an’ good, an’ tho’ I ain’t any- thing to brag on about bein’ a saint, I allow thar’s enough man left in me ter shove for’a’d six, ef ary galoot tries any gum games about that gal. An’ my name’s Poker Jack, from Pioche.” And the landlord of the Poker House brought bis fist down hard, on the bar. That night, when Death Notch slumbered, a horseman rode stealthily into the town. His form was well wrapped ina long black cloak, a wide-rimmed black hat was slouched down over his forehead to the eyes, which were covered, with the exception of a pair of peep holes, by a black mask, which was in turn met by an immense black beard that touched to the man’s waist, all giving him a dark and sinister appearance, That his mission was a secret one was evi- dent, for his animal’s hoofs were carefully muffled, and made little or no noise as they struck the hardpan bottom of the gulch. The strange dark man rode slowly along un- til he came opposite the Poker House, when he reined his horse close up to the front of the building and halted. Rising in the stirrups, and thence to his horse’s back, he was able to climb upon the cap of the front "door frame, which he accordingly did, and then crept into the open window, which led into the upper hall. Pausing a few moments and listening intent- ly, he stole from one door to another along the ‘hall, a and repeated the precaution of listening, ve concinds until he visited every deor that opened off from the hail. rile errr ee ee **So positive bas been | 7 A ALTERNET ETS = Then he came back to the door of the apart- ment occupied by Virgie, and softly turned the knob.” The door being locked, refused to open, at which he did not appear to be much surprised, for he drew » ‘ong slender pair of ‘‘ nippers ” from his pocket and quickly had the door un- locked and open. Then, stealing softly into the room, he closed it behind him as quietly as he had opened it. The next morning when Poker Jack took the meals up-stairs for Miss Virgie Verner, before any customers were about the establishment to watch him, he found the door wide open and Miss Verner gone. Not a little surprised he opened the commu- nicating door of the darky’s apartment, and found the gent of color lying upon his bed, bound hand and foot and gagged, with a quilt thrown over his bead to shut out any sound he might make. Poker Jack immediately went to his rescue, and found the poor *‘ coon” nearly suffocated. As soon as he could gain bis breath, he gave vent toa sigh of relief, and gazed about him with ludicrously rolling eyes, to make sure that he was really once more liberated. ‘‘Oh! de good Lor’ a’mighty! I s’pected Vse a gone clam, fo’ suah!” was his exclamation. “ W'at’s de matter, boss—w’at’s de reason dis inoffensive chile is tied up like alump ob dry goods an’ a quilt frowed ober his bead fo’ to keep | him from breafin’—dat’s what I’se anxious to know ?” | “Well, being somewhat in the dark myself, I naturally looked to you for an explanation,” | the host of the Poker House replied. ‘‘ Don’t you know how you came in that plight?’ “Deed I don’t know nuffin’ ’bout it, boss. All I know is dat when I awoke, dar I wat fast, like de leg ob a clam ina shell, and wid # | great scarcity o’ breathin’ stuff. Dun’no puf- fin’ else about it—’deed I don’t, fo’ suah.” | “Well, this is kind o° funnysome,” Poker | Jack declared, scratching his head. ‘Some one’s been hyar durin’ the night, an’ walized off with ther gal—that’s certain.” “What, Miss Virgin gon’ ’d’ye -say!” Nicode- | mus cried in alarm, springing to his fect, his dark visage growing a shade paler, if, indeed, such a. thing is possible. “*T allow she is,” Jack replied. she ain’t in her room.” “Oh! de good Lor’ a’mighty. W’at’s to be- come of me, den? l’se a dead gone nigger, to" suah! Say, boss, maybe she’s got skeered an’ done gon’ hid under de bed, or in de wash stand, or—” “Not a bit of it. She’s bin smuggled of during the night, but the next thing is, who's the smuggler? I allow et won't be healthy for him, when I learn who.” Had Jack had any inclination to keep the matter hushed, he could not well have done so, for it wasn’t ten minutes before Nicodemus had. spread the news all over the town, Both Carrol Carner and Piute Dave swore roundly when they heard the news, but Poker Jack eyed them searchingly. “One or the other of you know where that gal is,” he said, to himself, “‘and if no one else is interested in her welfare, it shall not be said that Poker Jack left her to the mercy 0’ two worse brutes than himself!” That day a horseman, or rather a girl, dressed in male attire, drew rein before the Poker House, and slipping from the saddle,* she strode into the bar-room, and took a glance over the crowd, therein. The woman was the notorious free-and- easy, reckless waif of the rocky western coun- try—Calamity Jane! ‘* Leastwiss CHAPTER VI. A VERY SINGULAR PERFORMANCE, Few there were in Death Notch who baé not heard of the notorious girl, and several among the lot had seen, and now recogn’zed her, Poker Jack among i rest, Zor Poker bad | 1 formerly thrived -« Deadwoow- -c-or. . ‘acing in Pioche. and Death Notob, t
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Deadwood Dick’.s Doom. time when this pen last introduced her; she was the same graceful, pretty girl-in-breeches that she had always beer, but if there was any change it was in the sterner expression of her sad eyes, A murmur of ‘‘ Calamity Jane,’’ ran through the bar-room as she entered, proving that she was recognized by more than one, ‘“‘Yes, Calamity Jane!’’ she retorted. ‘I see I am not unknown even in this strange jplace, Better, perhaps, isit so, for you'll have a clearer idea of whom you have to deal with. I want to know where Deadwood Dick is —that’s what 1 want. Tallow ye’llsay he ain’t here, but I won’t swallow that. He told me he’d be here, over a week ago, an’ he allus keeps his dates,” “ An’ so you are wantin’ him, eh?’ Piute Dave grunted, from his perch on one end of the bar. ‘S’pose likely you’re a pard o’ his’n, eh?” ““T allow I’ve been his truest pard for many a year,” Calamity replied, “but, that's not what I was asking. Where is Deadwood Dick?” “Well, gal, ef my memory serves me right, T allow the last I see’d o’ him he was a-sinkin’ in a bed of quicksand, where I throwed him. We had a tussel, an’ ther best man was ter chuck ‘other ’un in the quicksand, an’ ther honor fe!lonter me. He weakened, and I give him a boost, an’ I persume ef he’s kept right on sinkin’, ever since he’s arriv’ down ter ther maiden kentry o’ the washee-washee, by this time.” Calamity’s heart sunk within her at this de- yclaration, but outwardly she was very calm. She had met Deadwood Dick in the lower miaing districts, a few weeks before, and he had said, as he took her hand in his, in part- ing: “Tm going up to Death Notch, Janie, on my last adventuresome trail,.and after that I'm going to settle down for good, in some lonely spot, and see if the remainder of my life cannot be passed in more peace and quict than the past has been. Come to me, at Death Notch, Calamity, and the hand you have so long sought shall be yours. We will go hence down the avenue of life, hand jn hand, together as man and wife.” And then he had kissed her good-by, and she had looked forward eagerly for the ap- pointed time to come when she should go to claim the love and protection of the only man she had ever worshiped. “T don't believe a word that you say,” sho said, in reply to Piute’s brag. ‘But if I learn that what you have said is true, look out for yourself, for, girl though I am, I'll make you pay a bitter pevalty for your deed.” Then she turned and left the Poker House, a feeling of sadness stealing over her. She soon by inquiry learned the location of the fatal quicksand, and the incidents of the strange struggle between Piute Dave and Deai- wood Dick; then, leaving her horse to graze, she walked out to the place where the pool of stagnant water covered the treacherous bog- mire of death. “Ob! Dick! Dick!’ she moaned, kneeling upon the ground, and peering into the. pool, as if to penetrate into the untold depths;” [ can- not—will not believe that you have met your death in this awful place. Somebody, per- haps, may have come along and rescued you, jat the last moment. God knows I wish I could credit that supposition. Dead—you dead, my brave, true friend? No! nol no! I will never believe it—never, until when my own life shall have ebbed out, and I find that my search for you has been fruitless.” Tears were strange things in the eyes of Calamity Jane; it was more in her nature to laugh at trouble than cry; but, now, every- thing was changed. She had never quite given up the hope that Dick would, at some distant day, recognize her devotion to him, and take her as a wife. When he had told her to come to Death Notch to become his. wife, seemingly melted into glorious sunshine, and she was happy. Little wonder, then, that bitter grief now returned to torture her, when they told her that the famous bravo-knight had met so ter- rible a fate, after so many years of sate pas- sage through constant peril. For an hour she knelt by the dark pool. Her tears were now dried, and a deadly glitter in her eyes, while a stern expression mantled her features. “No! I will not be rash enough to kill my- self,’’ she murmured, rising to her feet, ‘ but will live on—live to hope that he is not dead— live to wreak vengeance on those who, as a people, aimed to tread upon and crush him, be- cause—because he was Deadwood Dick!” “Ha! ha! ko! ho!” a voice laughed, just be- hind her, and she wheeled to behold the dwarf avenger, Old Scavenger, standing near. Dick had described him to her, and theretore she had no difficulty in recognizing him—for surely there were no two persons in the West whom nature had made so hideous. “Ho! ho!” the dwarf chuckled, when she turned to gaze at him. ‘‘ So you came to look for the devilish road-agent in that pool, eh? You don’t find him, though—neither do I. Ho! ho! no; he cheated me out of my sweetest morsel of vengeance, curse him!” “How so?’ C.lamity asked, in surprise. “Was not Deadwood Dick a friend to you and your daughter, Scavenger?’ “No! no! He was a traitor—a devilish traitor—the murderer of my child, and when I found that, pinned to her dress as she lay in death where he left her, I pronounced his doom, and that of every other white traitor. D’ye see that?” And he held up the note that he had found on Kentucky -Kit’s body. (See Haur-Dime Liprary No. 201). Calamity took it from his hands, and read it carefully. “This is not Deadwood Dick’s writing, nor his signature, old man,” she said decidedly. ‘Tt is a forgery, trumped up to throw the sus- picion on Deadwood Dick.” ‘Bah! you lie!” Scavenger roared, becom- ing suddenly furious. ‘‘ You lie like ali the rest. They all lie, steal and murder, and I hate ’em—hate you—hate every man or woman whose face is white. Ha! ha! I kill ’em too, Each day have I sworn toadd one new death notch to Red Hatchet’s council-pole, and you shall be my victim for to-day—you! you! Ha! ha! it will be sweet vengeance to kill the girl who loved the devil road-agent!” And, even whilo speaking, he drew a long, keen-bladed butcher-knife trom his belt, and bounded toward ber, like some ferocious wild beast, rather than a human being. Calamity sprung back a pace, and drew a re- volver, for she saw that the insane Dwarf was bent on her destruction. “Stand back or I'll fire!” she cried, but he heeded her not, and she was as good as her word—fired, once! twice! thrice! full at Old Scavenger’s breast, But, without appearing to mind the shots, he came on, madly, with upraised knife, and nothing was left for her to do but turn and run for her life, as her strange foe was evi- dently bullet proof. She didn’t run toward the town, but up the gulch, and as fast as her feet could carry her, for she was aware that it was now a matter of life or death to her. Once, and again, she turned half about, while ruuning, and sent an unerring shot at the Avenger, but they checked not his chase, and he laughed in defiance, brandishing his knife, threateningly. And, too, he was a remarkably swift runner, and the Girl Sport soon became aware that he was slowly but surely gaining on her, In the start-cff, she had got several rods away from him, but it promised to be no great length of time ere he should overtake her. 1 Realizing this; Calamity began to wonder | what she must do to escape. Conld it be that GR We bitterness of her strange young life had she, toa, had come to this unlucky Ww, vuty Treas vl Ging to meet her fate, as Deadwood Dick had con? : | Faster—faster grew the chase, both pursuer | and pursued straining every nerve to win; nearer and nearer to his victim did the Avenger gain, a demoniac grin of triumph upon his fea- tures, Suddenly, however, there was a change—a break in the monotony of the race. A man stepped suddenly from bebind a point of rock, into the gulch, just after Calamity had passed, and stood with folded arms facing the oncoming dwarf. Not a weapon did be bave in hand, nor seemed he prepared for a battle, yet faced the pursuing Avenger com posedly. Wrapt from head to foot in a long black cloak, and wearing a tremendous black beard, which, with the addition of a mask, and wide- rimmed black hat slouched down over his forehead, completely hid his features from view, he wasa dark and rather sinister indi- vidual to behold—the same strange person who had ridden so mysteriously into Death Notch the night previous, and nearer Old Scavenger ap- | Nearer preached, flourishing his knife, and making strange contortions, but not an inch did the Black Unknown move, further than to ruise his black gloved hand, and point one finger at the Dwarf. Had the stranger shown fight, there would have undoubtedly been an immediate struggle, but his queer action seemed to puzzle the crazed creature, and he came to a halt, a dczen yards away, seeming undecided whether to ad- vance further toward thé cloaked customer or not. Calamity also |halted on the other side of him, not a little surprised and curicus. The Black Unknown now turned toward her, and motioned her, with his outstretched hand, to approach. The girl obeyed, keeping her weapon ready for instant use. When within a few feet «f him, he motioned her to stop. Then turning to the Dwarf, he motioned bim to pass by on the left-hand side of the gulch. At first Scavenger made no move to obey, but when the stranger stamped his foot, im- peratively, the girl’s pursuer did as he had been motioned to do, nor paused until he stood where Calamity had first haJted. Now turning to Calamity, the dark stranger pointed toward the Death Notch, and said, in a deep tone of voice, the simple word— oe Go QP ** Kerect!” the Girl Sport replied, with a laugh. ‘T?’m much obliged to you, and don’t need a second invitation.” And she went down the gulch, wondering who was this black individual, with the voice like a roll of midsummer thunder. She looked around just before turning a slight bend that would hide them from view, and saw that both the Black Unknown and the Dwarf yet retain- ed their same relative positions, except that the arm of the Unknown was leveled at the avenger, commandingly. As she looked, too, she saw the hand and arm fall to the Unknown’s side, while Scaven- ger staggered back—turned, and fled, up the gulch, at the top of his speed. Calamity went back to the town, and regis- tered at the Poker House, and was assigned the room from which Virgie Verner had been abducted. ‘** Jack,” she said, to Poker Jack, who had shown her to it—‘‘ Jack, you were a hard fel- low when I used to see you up in Deadwood, and judging by your surroundings, I don’t allow you’re much saintlier, now. But, thet won’t hinder you from answering me a ques- tion.” ‘Certainly not, Calamity; ask anything you choose!” ‘¢ Well, I want to know whether or not you really believe that Deadwood Dick sunk in that quicksand?” ‘‘Why, I haven’t any reason to believe that f. » - acid. «' Veet neta tae Sak ee ME Ulu Lv eve. Orey ET oy waOy’ Fes en se tue
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say, and then he and the gang cum back here, an’ left the poor cuss to sink.” “May the Almighty inflict some terrible penalty upon them if this is true! But, try though I do to become resigned to this conclu- sion, I do not believe that Deadwood Dick lies at the bottom of that bed of quicksand!” Toward dusk, that evening, a woman, on horseback, attended by two mounted scouts, rode into Death Notch, and dismounted before the Poker House. She was an elderly lady, say of fifty-five or sixty, well-dressed, and yet one whose face spoke of a life that had not been all sunshine. On dismounting she immediately entered the bar-room, and after a searching glance around, approached Carrol Carner, who was engaged in playing a game of cards with a miner. Carner arose, with a flushed face, as he saw her approach, as if it was his intention to at- tempt to escape, but he caught the gleam of something concealed in the woman’s hand as it hung by her side, and desisted from any such action. ‘‘T expected to find you, if I persevered,” the woman said, with sarcasm, as he arose and tipped bis hat. ‘‘ Please order a private apartment where I can see you, and talk busi- ness!” CHAPTER VII. A VILLAIN UNMASKED. CARNER seemed to deem it advisable to hu- mor her, for he immediately led the way up- stairs to his own apartment, and when there handed her a chair. ‘Be seated,” he said curtly. “ Your visit is unexpected to me. Why do you come here?” “To effect a settlement with you, villain that you are, if such a thing is possible,” the woman retorted bitteriy. ‘‘Carrol Carner, have you not one spark of tenderness or mercy in your cruel heart?” “Not that I am aware of,” the man replied, seating bimself, with his heels elevated upon a table and lighting a cigar. ‘I never was overburdened with a reproving conscience, and when it is likely to interfere with any of my plans I do away with it entirely. If you come here thinking that wholesale tears and suppli- cations for mercy will move me, you’ve great- ly missed your reckoning.” “Carrol Carner, take care!” “ Bah! don’t be so foolish as to threaten me, old woman! You can’t do anything with me.” “Tecan. Ican have you arrested for a big- amist!” ‘“Humph! How are you to prove it? How think you acourt would decide it? They would pronounce me an adventurer, reprimand me perhaps, and thero the matter wouid end. Why, I cannot see that there’s any great cause for trouble! It’s a simple little story. I, Car- rol Carner, an adventurer, go down to Califor- nia for a little recreation, and meet and marry the step-daughter of a rich speculator known as Morris. Both the girl’s mother and _step- father approve of the match, when I accommo- date them with a little ready-made informa tion that [ am a popular mine owner in the Nor’-west—and the wedding goes off as merry as a marriage bell should go. Next in order develops a little item of family news that Morris has a deal of property and an equal number of debts, and in order to save his prop- erty he must deed it to some one, and thereby defraud his creditors of all that he owes. In this extremity, Morris proposes to deed me two-thirds of all his property, and his step- daughter the other third, all of which is done, legally, and thus things stand, when comes the oews from Utah that Camrol Carner is a Mor- mon, and has no less than eight fair and buxom wives, to whose loving company he is respect- fully invited back, ‘* There is a small-sized tornado in the Mor- ris camp then, and Carner is commanded to clear out, but first deed back the property. This he kindly refuses to do; and about this time two other sensations arise. News comes that Myrtle, his wife, bas inherited an im- mense fortune by death of a relative—next, Deadwood Dick’s Doom. Carrol Carner, in company with a pair of neighbors, finds Myrtle kneeling over the life- less body of her step-father, with a bloody knife in her grasp. What do you suppose is the result? I suppose you are full well aware. Caught in the act as it were, and realizing the consequences, Myrtle fled, not only from the scene of her strange crime, but from Califor- nia, accompanied by a family servant. Smart- ing under the Llow of dishonor she had put upon my fair name and reputation, I vowed to hunt her down and hand her over to the law!” ‘* Villain! monster!” Mrs. Morris gasped, who had been listening with blanched face and flashing eyes. ‘Your villainy is without par- allel. You know my poor child pever com- mitted that murder, You know more about how Mr. Morris died than she.” “That you will find it a hard thing to prove,” Carner replied, coolly. ‘‘It’s easier to sur: mise a thing than to prove it. I can prove that I found the girl in a suspiciously murder- ous position, with a bloody knife in her grasp, and that is all-sufficient in the eyes of the law. When I succeed in capturing her, the law will take her.” ‘What! what is this—have you not found her yet?” the mother demanded, excitedly. ‘*“Yes—on two occasions, but she has given me the slip both times,” the scoundrel declared composedly. ‘‘I found her at first, fulfilling an engagement in a Leadville theater as Vergie Verner, where her musical accomplishments, together with those of the negro, had secured her a situation, She saw me, however, before I had ferreted her out, and fled. I was soon upon her trail, however, and followed her here to this beautiful burg. She was here when I came, but during last night was kidnapped from her room, and the darky left behind, bound hand and foot,” ** And you were the kidnapper!” Mrs, Mor- ris asserted. ‘Carrol Carner, for God’s sake —for the hope of the hereafter, tell me where is my child?” “Dead, I hope,” the Mormon said, decidedly, ‘but even that isa delusion. I know nothing more than I have told you. I did not abduct her. I do not know where she is,” ‘‘-You are lying to me!” “Have it that way if you choose, it were so myself.” “Why have you thus turned against her, you villain, after you married her—deceived her and wronged her?” ‘* Because—well, for several reasons. One in particular—I don’t need any more wives, having a pretty good stock up at Salt Lake, I only married the girl in the first place because I found life rather monotonous in California, Secondly, | find that with your demise and her demise, there are no more immediate heirs ex- tant, and I would come in and inherit the last third of your property, and her recent inher- itance too. Consequently, you see it is only natural that the law should deal promptly with her, while as for gou—oh, well, it wouldn’t puzzle one much to gerid of you!” Exasperating in the extreme was the man’s composure and sang froid as he spoke; it but gave evidence of his depravity. “‘Tt is as Isupposed,” she said, rising. ‘‘ You are disposed to win your little game, no matter what the risk. You will find, however, that a mother’s love for her child is an insurmountable barrier to battle with.” “Hal ha! then you will show your teeth, eh?” he said, with a light laugh. ‘“‘Ay! and you shall feel their bite if you further attempt to harm one hair of her head who is dearer to me than life.” Then she swept haughtily from the room. ‘‘Humph! matters are getting a little more business like,” the Mormon muttered.» “If I mistake not I couldn’t have chosen a better lo- cation to terminate the business.” I would Back from the plateau which had been the scene of the strange compact between Red Hatchet and Old Scavenger, stood a goodly- sized, strong-built log cabin, surrounded by a fringe of pine trees whose foliage reached to rere 3 9 tbe ground. So admirably arranged was this natural screen, it was only on close approach that the cabin could be seen. About the same hour that Carrol Carner and Mrs. Morris were holding an interview, a scene was occurring in the mountain cabin, which has a bearing upon our romance. Red Hatchet sat before a fire on the hearth, engaged in smoking his pipe, while he watebed the flames leap upward, and at the same time listened to the words of Old Scavenger, who stood to one side, leaning upon a rude staff. ““Does Red Hatchet not remember what he promised ?” the dwarf demanded angrily, a mad fire burning in his terrible eyes. ‘ Have ye forgotten that ye gave her to me?” “Red Hatchet gave not his child to the Dwarf Devil to butcher!” the chief replied, in a stern tone; ‘not till Scavenger has completed the destruction of the pale-faces’ town, shall he lay band upon Siska, and then, it shall not be to harm her. Siska can become the wife of Devil-Dwart, but he must not harm her.” “Bah! I want not a wife—I want sweet vengeance!” the Avenger replied, with a wild laugh. ‘To-day has passed without my add- ing a death notch to the record. Every time I fail to secure a victim, I will cut off a finger or toe, so that they’ll not have it to say I failed to have vengeance. Siska shall furnish me that trophy!” “No! no!” Red Hatchet gasped—‘ you ghall not do this, I will not permit it.” “Then does not Red Hatchet respect the vow he sealed with a draught of blood, that Siska should belong to me, to do with as I pleased? If he does not, I will kill him, and then torture the girl!” the maniac hissed ven- omously. ‘‘I will not be cheated of venge- ance!” The old chief bowed his head in his hands, for a few moments. Then, he said: ‘Red Hatchet is the chief of a great tribe, and his word is good, whenever he gives it. The Devil-Dwarf shail have one of the fingers of Siska.” He arose and hobbled to the door of the cabin, which stood open, and taking a whistle from his pocket, blew a shrill blast upon it. A moment later Siska came bounding mer- ‘rily through the treesinto the cabin, her dusky face flushed, from her mountain ramble. She grew pale as she saw the Dwarf, and turned to her father. ‘* What is it Red Hatchet wants?” she asked, laying a hand upon his arm, The chief gazed at her a moment irresolute- ly, then bis face hardened, as be led her toa seat, ‘‘Siska is a brave girl. DPoes she remember who it was that drove her people from Sequoy, and killed her brothers and mother?” “The pale faces, father, who have ever been the enemies of the red race. But, why does Red Hatchet ask?” ° ‘Does Siska remember being told that Scavenger, the Dwarf, had consented to fight the pale-faces for Red Hatchet, and that Siska was to be his! Did not Siska consent to this?” “*T consented, because I knew it was Red Hatchet’s wish.” “True. Red Hatchet promised you to Scavenger, and now he asks for one of Siska’s fingers, because he has not been successful in killing a pale-face. What has Siska to say? Will she refuse the sacrifice, or will she fulfill Red Hatchet’s word of honor to the Dwarf!” A horrified shudder traversed the Indian girl’s frame, as she listened, and fixed her gaze upon the horrible hairy visage of the Avenger. “Can Red Hatchet ask Siska to do this?” she demanded, turning her reproachful eyes upon his stern unpitying face. ‘Tt pains Red Hatchet to ask for this sacri- fice, and yet Siska knows that he has always kept his promises as good as the gold in these mountains, And, then, the Devil-Dwarf is carrying out the vengeance upon the pale- faces, which Red Hatchet’s old age will not al- low him to do,”
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10 “ And if you refuse, I'll kill your father, and torture you, afterward,” Scavenger said, with a diabolical grin. “Oh! father, I cannot!” Siska cried, cover- ing her eyes with Ler hands, to shut out sight of the crazy cut-throat. ‘‘I’d rather you would take your tomahawk, and kill me, yourself!” ‘Waugh! Siska is but a squaw, now—not like her brave self. Lay one finger upon the table in scorn, as becomes a fearless Indian girl, and tell yonder bloodthirsty pale-face devil to cut it off. Red Hatchet has spoken!” And this time the tones of the old warrior were proud and filled with stern rebuke. Fired by his coldness, Siska advauced to a rude table near by, and laying her left fore- finger upon the board, she turned fiercely to Scavenger, her eyes flashing fire, and said: “There! monster, take your coveted prize!” ‘Ho! ho! this is vengeance!” the madman cried, striding toward the table, his long ter- rible knife in hand. ‘‘ When I have cut that off, my thirst shall be satisfied, until a pale- face dog shall come within reach, to-morrow.” ‘He reached the table and caught hold of her wrist, and— Did not execute his hellish purpose! for at the instant he was about to s‘.cc tha member from the hand, a man boun ted quickly into the room, and seizing the Dwarf by the leg and shirt collar, raised him by the strength of his arms above his head—then hurled him forward into the capacious fire-place, where a hot fire was burning, for the mountain air was chill. The next instant the stranger had drawn a sword from a scabbard which hung at his hip, ° and stood on guard. It was none other than the Stranger in Black, who had come to the rescue of Calamity Jane, a few hours before, With a howl of rage the Dwarf scrambled from the fire-place, but not before the flames had severely scorched his hands and face and scorched some of the bair therefrom. “You—you !” he gasped on gaining his feet, and perceiving who his assailant was. ‘¢Ves, I!” the Unknown replied, in his deep thundering voice. ‘‘Once more we have met, and your little murderous game is foiled. Go} I give you yet until the 10th of September to live!” For a moment the Avenger gazed in almost speechless fury at the man in black—then with a howl, he fled from tho cabin. CHAPTER VIII. WHO KILLED PIUTE DAVE? WHEN the Dwarf was out of sight, the Un- known turned to Red Hatchet, and gazed at him a moment, silently. ‘You are like the rest of your red race—a demon!” he said, finally, with biting sarcasm. ‘Td be doing your child an act of mercy, you old snake, if I threw you into that fire, and al- lowed you to burn to a crisp!” ‘‘Oh! nof no!” Siska cried, pleadingly. “Don’t do that, sir. He is my father, and getting old. Please spare him for my sake.” ‘For your sake, then, be it, for I can but re- member that Iam under deep obligations to you,” the Unknown said, bowing. Siska looked surprised, ‘‘ The daughter of Red Hatchet is grateful to the dark stranger,” she said, ‘‘ but does not un- | derstand why he fee's under obligations to her.” ‘“‘Nor is there need that she should,” the Unknown replied. ‘‘In the mean time, be- ware of the mad Dwarf, and if he again offers to trouble you, shoot him on the spot!” With this parting injunction, the man of mystery turned, and strode from the cabin, out into the early gloaming of the night. Calamity Jane had overheard the conver- sation between Mrs. Morris and Carrol Car- ner, for it so chanced that her room adjoin- ed that of the Mormon schemer, and there being only a thin board partition, every word that had been spoken came distinctly to “ ‘ ' * ¥ SOs Deadwood Dick’s Doom. Mormon villain,” she said, ‘‘and I allow he’ll find his hands full.” She went down-stairs into the bar-room, to see if the California lady was there, but found that she was not. There was a big crowd of the miners and roughs present, however, among whom were Piute Dave, and the bull- whacker poet, Shakespeare. The latter had evidently been indulging in a goodly number of ‘bootlegs,’ for he was catering to the tastes of the crowd by some | very queer antics in the terpsichorean line. “Dance?” he roared, with an extra shuffle; “why, galoots, ye nevyer see’d yer uncle wig- gle his number thirteen. I’m a reg’lar old bal- let, when I get a-goin’, on single bizness, an’ when ye guv me a feminine gal o’ good luks, why, old Chesterfield was nowhar wi’ his ideers o' exquizut grace. Jest tershow ye, fer instances, my festive royal old kids, hyar’s ther Calam frum Calamityville; she won’t mind tryin’ a mazzurkey wi’ me, I know.” And he waltzed toward where Calamity had paused, bent on forcing ber into a dance with him, But, just before he reached her, his eyes became glued upon a little instrument she held in her grasp, which mildly suggested trouble, did he advance further. So he halted: “Why don’t you come on?” Calamity asked, dryly. ‘‘Surely you are not afraid of sucha little tool as this?” ‘But, great Jerusalem, you’d let me have, right in the buzzom—TI seed et in yer eye.” “ Well, I allow you’re a purty fair guesser, for I shall shoot you, kerslap, if you lay ope o’ yer greasy paws on me!” “ But you’d git yanked, fer that.” ** Not while I kin bandle a ‘ six ’!” “Then ye calkylate you’re a shootist, do ye, right from Shootin’ ville?” ‘*T do, thahb same. I presume I am most generally able to look out for number one.” “But ye can’t shoot—no siree, bobtail hoss! Thar ain’t no mortal thet kin shoot, compared wi’ yer uncle, ther playful poet 0’ ther plains. Why, w’u’d you believe et, gal, ’m ther furst patentee o’ revolvyers, am I, an’ I kin outshoot ary pilgrim from Carver, down to the days o’ Davy Crockett.” “Pll bet ye can’t,” Calamity retorted. She saw that to gain the admiration and respect of these rude men she must surprise them by some extraordinary proceeding, and there is no accomplishment that tickles a Western man so much as an exhibition of perfect marksman- ship. In this Calamity was not to be despised, for she had handled weapons too many years not to be well acquainted with their use. “‘T'll bet you can’t knock the neck off a bot- tle, thirty yards off.” ‘Oh! Danyel in the lions’ den! what fool- ishness. Why, gal, For shutin’ cluss, I’ra noted— I’m ther ’ristocratic, bloated— Ther purty sugar-coated Pop-gun puller o’ ther West, Why, I kin toss a fier glass inter ther air, an’ plunk a hoel through the bottom afore et cums down.” ; ‘¢ You can’t do it,” Calamity declared, pull- ing out her purse, “and Ill bet just a gold eagle ag’in’ it. Then, I'll tura around and bet that if you can do thet, I can take a revolver and put the bullet down the tube o’ a narrow necked bottle, while it is in the air.” A cheer of enthusiasm came from the crowd at this assertion of the Girl Sport, while the poet looked rather nonp’ “se4, as he surveyed his opponent. “* Well, dog my cats, ef we kin do thet thar’s | Ll | a heap more narve in yo then ye luk fer. jest bet ye a squar’ fifty gold-bar thet ye ken’t do nothin’ o’ the kind,” “Taken, first dose. Put up yer collateral, Poker Jack wiil hoid the stakes.” The bullwhacker was in earnest, and put up his ‘three ouncer ” in Jack’s hands, forthwith, while Calamity handed him five eagles, and ‘the bet was made. oe <. sued and vrcve yer brag,” atu --2 cal, - 4 Whi Siliee WL Jim WUlkon, agdine. coc | Shakespeare criec Wit: u grin, ‘an’ whee Tf git yer fifty, cuss my golden slippers ef I don’t treat ther bovees ter ther best ther house af- fords. Ob! I’m a liberal cuss.” ‘*So I perceive, and when you win a wager on my shootin’, you'll need to bet the other way!” Calamity laughed. ‘‘ You yilgrims git to either side now, #nd leave the center of the room Clear for it’s whole length, so that nobody shall git hurt—it would be a great pity to harm | so respectable an assemblage. I could never forgive myself were I to kill balf a dozen of you. Nuvw, then, you bullwhacker, procure an empty bottle, and stand half way down the room, to the right side, and when I give the word, toss the bottle up into the air, the neck towards me. I will take my position at the upper end of the room here, and if you toss the bottle as I order, Vl agree to put a bullet down the neck so that it will come out the bot- tom. Get ready now!” Her orders were promptly obeyed. The crowd moved to one side, and she and Skake- speare took their respective positions, ‘“Gentlemen, you want ter peel yer eyes now,” the bullwhacker said, feeling considera- ble uneasiness as to the result of his wager. ‘A gal o’ starling qualities this gal Caiam, may be, but et won’t do nary harm ter watch her very close, ye see. Ther’fore, peel yer eyes, and peel ’em good, an’ watch her leetle game—’ca’se fer me ter lose my ducats, b’yees, ’d be a beastly shame. Selah! Cum, gal, be yer ready?” ‘*Not yet!” Calamity answered, taking her position. ‘‘ The light in the room is so bright that it dazzles my eyes. Wiil some one tie a handkerchief over one of my eyes—you, Poker Jack?” The host of the Poker House assented, and according to directions, effectually blindfolded the left eye of the eccentric gir! dare-devil. ‘““Now, then—one—two—three!” she cried, cocking and raising her revolver before she had uttered ‘‘ three.” The instant she uttered the momentous word, the bullwhacker tossed a long-necked bottle into the air, as directed, with a “ ki! yi!’ The next instant there was a loud report—a smashing of glass—a yell of human pain. Down to the floor fell the bottle with the bottom knocked out; down to the floor fell Piute Dave, grasping at his side, from which a stream of blood was cozing, and dyeing the floor. Calamity had won her wager! And Piute Dave had lost his life. Had one bullet done it all? That was a question unanswerable by any present, as all eyes had been riveted upon the bottle as it whirled through the air. It had all occurred in an instant, and brought surprise to every one—even Calamity, wha heard the fall. “Tam killed—the cursed girl in breeches did it! Piute Dave gasped, blood spurting from his mouth, as he spoke. “Kill her, some one —cut her heart out!” “ Back!” Calamity cried, tearing the hand- kerchief from before her eye, and leveling her | re-cocked weapon at the crowd. ‘Thisisa lie! I did not shoot that man. Look at the bottle—there isa hole through it! You will at once see that 1 could not bave done both | jobs with one bullet.” ‘You lie—you lie!” Piute Dave yelled, rais- ing frantically upon his elbow, and attempting to draw his revolver, but the exertion was more than he was capable of, and he dropped back upon the floor—dead! For a moment thereafter the silence in the room was so intense that a pin-fall could have been heard, Then, Poker Jack spoke: “The gal is right, boys,” he said, decidedly. “She could not hev bored thet hole through the end of the bottle, an’ killed Dave too.” *¢ A gal who’s clever enuff ter even chuck cold lead inter ther throat o’ a bottle when et was tumblin’ somersaults in mid-air, ar’ enuff | possessed oc’ ther devil ter do most anything, J | allow,” an oid miner ceciaced. with 2 ernst of " disapproval, ana this view oi the matte: ais
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Deadwood Dick’s Doom. il. seemed to meet a favorable response from his companions, “Tt’s a big thing to do, of course,” Poker Jack assented; ‘* but look! yonder is a splinter in the door at the other end ot the room, that shows where the bullet went, after goin’ through the bottle.” An exclamation confirmed his declaration. A bullet was lodged ia the door, in plain view, in a spot where the door had hitherto been un- marred. “That don’t setile the question, however!” a voice cried, and Carrol Carner, who had been standing, since the shooting, in the doorway that opened into the hall, now advanced into the barroom, “I’ve gota little finger to in- trude into this pie!” ‘Well, what have you got tosay??’ Calamity demanded, turning fiercely upon him, for from his voice she knew he was the same man who was dealing so villainously with Mrs. Morris. “T have this to say!” he replied, with a tri- umphant smile—‘‘that while all other eyes were turned upon the bottle, mine were upon you, and I saw you fire two revolvers, instead of one; oue was leveled at the dead man here, the other at the bottle, and both exploded sim- ultaneously making one report!” ‘* My God! what a lie!’ Calamity Jane gasped; theua—‘“ Back! back, you devils—” as the crowd rushed at her, and she opened rapid fire upon them with two revolvers, resolved to sell her life and liberty dearly. But they were a hundred to one—what could be the result? They had secured her in the hard unyielding grasp of u dozen pairsof bands, in almost a moment, but not until her unerring aim had sent four strong men upon their backs, and several others wounded. ‘Out with her! String her up!” roared the Bullwhacker Poet, who had been one of those to sustain a scratch in the face. ‘“Yes! give the murderous hussy a rope!” cried Carrol Carner. ‘‘She deserved it long ago!” “Hold! Pause before you do this outrage!” a deep stern voice cried, and there entered the room the same strange black-bearded stranger whom we have known as the Unknown. He had no weapons in hand to stay the mob that bad Calamity Jane in their power; it was the commanding tone of voice, and his dark, forbidding appearance, that caused the rude crowd to pause and await an explanation of his advent. ‘*Stop!” he repeated. ‘‘This girl belongs to me to kill. I have a mortgage upon the life you would take, and I propose to attend to the foreclosure myself; still, realizing your revenge- ful spirit toward her, I will give you a chance to win her for your own disposal. Select some man from your crowd, who is expert at knife- throwing, and we will throw six knives apiece at a round chalk mark, the size of a silver dollar on yonder door, while standing twenty paces from the aforesaid door. The man who puts the most knives nearest to the chalk center shall have the girl!” “That’s me, every day in the week, you bet!” cried the poet, executing a ludicrous _ecaper. ‘Right on my muscle aire I at tossir’ knives, way up ter ther shoulder; ther ’yees knows who I am an’ thet my specialty is ¢cuet, an’ compilin’ beautiful gems 0’ poetry. Hh! boyees—shall we hev a leetle o’ ther lady amoosement?”’ - Piute Dave lay dead upon the 4-cr—these men of Death Notch looked next after him, to Shakespeare, as their leader, aod gave a growl of assent. “Tt is well!’ the Unknowr said, ‘for had you refused, you would never have escaped from this place alive, as *t is in my power to strike every one of you dead, at a single blow!” It was a bold declavetion, but had its effect. The crowd cowered in superstition from the gaze of this darx forbidding stranger. ‘‘ to ahead, aud collect a dozen bowie knives, 2a0 aso cour’ 4 dollar-sized circle on vonder ‘er, SOch, pate AL vw WEDCE vote anc vag off,” che stranger commanded, Sele Give way Oleu Pe ot tne Se Semeaeertey, one - a EEE a SS Se =—— 4 FN. ) Shakespeare followed the instructions prompt- ly, and then, armed with his allowanee of knives, took his position. It was now to be a test of skill for the life of Calamity Jane, who was still held a prisoner. CHAPTER IX. THE UNKNOWN WINS—AND LOSES, Ir was the Black Unknown who gave the word ‘go,’ and the bullwhacker hurled his knife directly toward the chalk mark upon the door, Hurled it well, too, for it struck within a couple of inches of the hastily-prepared bull’s- eye. on cheer went up from the crowd, who had hitherto had no particular amount of faith in the bullwhacker’s aim, and it tickled the poet hugely, for he executed a grotesque breakdown in celebration of bis first good throw. ‘*Ho! ho! who sayeth thet ther great Peru- vian Poet ain’t on his muscle?’ he roared, with a broad grin, ‘‘ Did ye see how purty thet no- ble blade went quivering cluss ter the eye of the bull? This time Pll put out the bovine’s sight, entirely, you bet!” But he didn’t. Tbe knife went further from the bull’seye than the first one. ‘““Kerwhoop! I got nervous thet time, an’ put on too much elbow,” he cried, a little chagrined. ‘* Knife-throwin’ is about as uncertain as life, I tell ye. A fellar can’t tell when he’s goin’ ter make a miss-go!” The next throw was more successful, for the knife went quivering into the center of the bullseye, precisely. “Thar! feast yer eyes on that, will ye, an’ tremble in yer boots!” the bullwhacker shouted turning to the Unknown. ‘‘Ob, I’m a colt, am!—I’m a snortin’, cavortin’ war-hoss, right from ther histrionic battle-field o’ Waterloo, where water was first invented. Here goes ag’in fer another bull’seye!” And, sure enough, he did succeed in putting the blade point of his fourth knife in the circle close beside its predecessor. Another round of applause came from the friends of the bullwhacker. ‘IT guess that surprises our black-bearded A eige !” Carrol Carner ejaculated, sarcastic- ally. “Not nearly so much as an early death will surprise you, sir!” the Unknown retorted. ‘‘In- deed, Iam pleased to see your man exhibit so much,skill in the use of the knife, and presume he will win.” “You may hope so, for your own good, you Mormon devil!” Calamity cried, turning her pee eyes upon the Salt Lake ruffian, ‘‘ for sy I get | ree, you can bet Pil make mince-meat of you. This, too, elicited quite a cheer, for the Mor- mon was no favorite among the roughs, despite his effort to establish himself in their confi- dence. Altogether, the audience was getting very en- thusiastic. ““T have no fear of serious consequences!” Carner responded, with provoking composure. ‘“Nor need you,” the Unknown replied, grim- ly, “for even if the girl escapes your ven- eens she is not through with me, I fancy. a! ha! no!” “ “In what way have I deserved your enmity ?”’ Calamity demanded, more surprised than ever, for Ane had believed she would gain her libert nt “he hands of this strange dark individual, oat voice was like the sullen growl of thun- der, ‘That remains to be told,” he replied. ‘ Suf- fice to say that I hold a mortgage against your life, which I shall foreclose, If I don’t win, you are still the prisoner of these gents you sce around you. Go ahead, sir bullwhacker;—you have yet two knives to throw!” ‘‘An’ hyar they go. Jest feast ther Shakespearean wind up o’ dramyer.” Whiz! away sped the fifth knife from the poet’s hand, and buried its keen point deep in the door a half a foot from the bull’seye. ** Bah! thet don’t look as if you were going to win!” Carrol Carner growled. ‘“ You'll lose the girl, you fool, and cheat us out of our ven- geance tb ‘* Ef he loses her, et’s his loose, pilgrim!” one of the miners said, ‘tan’ ef Black Beard wins her fair, he shall hev her, ’ca’se we’re square we aire—eh! ain’t that so, boys?” The men of Death Notch gave a nod of as- yer eyes on this exciting ch ath toeyet Gh sir W.28. s¢ tnat Laiamity SAITO LAr vx ceo Muhny aMong in- is, We OO tee would not be given to the Unknown, under any circumstances. Whiz! Shakespeare’s last knife hurtled through the air, and entered the bull’seye—mak- ing just balf of its allotted number which had entered the circle, ‘““Very good, indeed,” the Unknown said, ‘*but I think [ can put the whole six in the cir- cle. Pull out your knives and I will try, at least.” Shakespeare obeyed, not nearly pleased as he might have been. ‘**T orter ’a’ put ’em all hum, myself,” he said, “but every time I’d git jest ready to let fly, some consarned line 0’ poetry would pop inter my noddle, an’ discombobberate my aim. Hyar’s one that popped in, just as | heaved the last knife: so. well ‘Mary had a little lamb; At her et uster kick, She pulled the wool all off its back An’ made a feather tick.”’ ‘“ Well, please don’t give us any more of the same style, or it may injure my aim also,” the Unknown added,’ satirically, as he equip himself with his knives preparatory to the test, ‘“Watch me now, to see that I do it fairly.” He then hurled one of the bowies toward the door. Thud! it entered the circle exactly in the center, the blade passing through the door up to the hilt, illustrating, strikingly, with what force the missile had been thrown. ‘Pull that knife out; [ want to: put another in the same place,” he said, with a faint smile, It was done, and he was as good as his word—~ he hurled another knife into the same spot. One after another was pulled out, and one after another he buried in the same hole, until he had not only exhausted his own half-dozen, but had also buried the poet’s knives there, too, without making a miscalculation in his aim! When he bad finished he turned to the spec- tators, with a bit of triumph gleaming in his eyes. ‘*‘ Have I won, gentlemen?” he demanded, witk a smile. The cheer that followed spoke better than words of their decision. “On course you’ve gone an’ won, an’ I dratted ef ye didn’t do et fair an’ squar’, an ther gal is yourn, declareth I, William Henr Shakespeare, mayor 0’ this hyar town o’ Deat Notch. Give us yer’and, you galoot!—yer ’and soa your ’and, ter squeeze jest fer good uck! ‘*No, [thank you! Ido not care toshake the hand of a greater rogue than myself,” the Unknown replied, dryly. Then he turned te Calamity: ‘*Girl, I have won you, fairly, and now you are doubly mine. But I do not want you, jest yet, and so will give you your liberty for a tew days, well knowing that you will not dare to runaway. Gents, give her her liberty, and see that she is. offered no molestation until I get ready to claim my revenge. Ha! ha! it shall sweet revenge—the revenge of years’ maturing!” Then, with a grim laugh, the dark stranger wrapped his cloak closer about him, and stalked from the tavern. One or two of the miners went to the door, after him, and saw him stride swiftly away up one of the gloomy gulches which centered into the basin like the spokes of a wheel to the hub. Calamity was then released, but Carner had taken precaution to escape to his rocm, fo sive trouble. Just outside of the basin, in the moonlight that streamed into the gulch, the Unknown came unexpectedly upon a woman who was seated upon a fallen tree, and engaged in a good old-fashioned cry. The new-fashioned cry of to-day, ts a ecmt'- nation of sighs and snuffles; consequently it oceurred to the Unknown that this woman’s hearty cut and out cry might safely be pre- nounced old-fashioned, He was considerably surprised at his cis- covery, and hesitated about icp en her. But resolved to learn her trcuble, he finally stepped forward and touched her upon the shoulder. ‘* Excuse me, madam, but is your trouble of a nature that needs assistance from astrong and willing hand of one whose whole life has beer one of trouble?” Mrs. Morris—for it was she—looked up with a. start. “Who are you, sir?” she demanded, in alarm, for his dark and forbidding apnesaranre did nat *evorabiy impress ..c One whe is a gentleman, sri anmenda oO son oppressed, ma’am, e’en ino’ dark miy aspect
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| i Y eee 12 Deadwood Dick’s Doom. CR aE RR RT NT A NN SS ST SE RS SRR eR A A SA ET RT a Coming accidentally upon you, andnoting your | Might not Carrol Carner have discovered this . evident grief, I was prompted to ask if a’strong hand could be of assistance in alleviating the trouble. No offense, I trust?’ ‘*Not necessarily, if you are sincere in what you say,” Mrs. Morris replied, a little more as- sured. ‘'I amin deep trouble, and fear I can obtain no relief. 1 have lost my only daugh- ter, and cannot find ber. I tracked her to this bad, wicked town of Death Notch, but only to | find that she had suddenly disappeared,”’ “Ab! then you are Mrs. Morris, a California lady?” the Unknown said, his surprise doub- ling, for at first he could form no idea of her identity. ‘“ Yes, Iam Mrs. Morris, but how could you know that?” * Because the circumstances of your daugh- ter’s flight to this country are known to me! Your daughter is a guest in my solitary camp in the mountains, and she told me her story. » It was I who abducted her from the tavern, that she might not become the victim of her enemy, the Mormon villain.” “God be praised!” the relieyed mother cried, clasping ber hands joyfully. ‘‘ You are sure she is there, safe and well?” ‘*She was, this morning, when left her there, in the care of her negro companion. Come with me, and you shall soon see her.” ‘* How can I ever repay you for this kindness? You have taken a great load from my heart. How far is it to the place where I can see my daughter?” ‘* Not over a mile, and we can soon walk it. Will you take my arm?’ , ** No, thanks! [ am aa strong and love to walk. Lead, and I will follow. Oh! sir, my daughter is of good cheer, is she?’ ‘*Quite brave considering the trials she has panes through, I judge. Her negro companion lively enough to cheer her up, were she Cage disposed,” the Unknown declared, as e led the way up the gulch. ‘* Did she tell you why she fled from home?” “Yes. I could well understand her case, for I came near being caught in such a trap once, myself,” was the gloomy answer. ‘‘ This being found standing over dead persons does not always signify that the one so discovered is guilty. The guilty one glides away where the unwary and thoughtless approaches.” The remainder of the journey was finished in silence. Mrs. Morris was busied with her own thoughts —congra.ulating herself on having her child in spite of Carrol Carner, and wondering if they would be lucky enough to escape from the moun- tains before he could find and offer them fur- ther molestation as he had promised. She felt that he was capable of any villainy no matter how base. In the course of a half hour they came to an abrupt termination of the gulch, in the face of amighty, towering wall of rock, at the foot of which was a hut of boughs and poles, and in front of that a crane upon which a kettle hung over a temporary fire-place. There was no Visible stir about the place as they approached, and the Unknown quickened his pace. They must have gone inside,” he said, but his words belied his belief; he scented trouble! A few steps further, and they came upon an a ling spectacle! rented upon the ground, with his back lean- ing against the tree was Nicodemus Johnsing, with his banjo in his hands, as if preparatory ‘to playing. ut he was stone dead! ‘“‘ By heaven, there’s bad work here!” the Un- known cried, bounding forward into the hut. He came out, an instant later, but unaccom- panied, ““Your daughter is gone, madam!” he said. “‘Some human demon has been here and killed the darky, and carried her off, as she is not in the hut. I believe the cursed crazy Dwarf is { the author of this outrage!” CHAPTER X. A THWARTED DESIGN. Poor Mrs. Morris again burst into tears on learning her daughter’s fate from the Un- known’s ee “Oh! what shall I do—what can I do toward’ rescuing my poor child!” she cried, nearly frantic with her loss. “You can do literally nothing, my dear maid at present,” the Unknown answered/ “It will require a strong, shrewd man to pick the culprit’s trail and discover his hiding-place.” ‘But, it may not have been this Dwarf you speak of, who bas done this terrible work. or (ema carried off poor Myrtle, after killing ic ‘IT judge not. Come! I will show you the way back to the town.” “What! not without my making an attempt to discover my poor lost child?” ‘“‘Humph!-you’d have poor success, as I be- fore intimated. The best thing for you is to return to town and get accommodations at the tavern. All that can be done toward finding and a daughter I will attend to in. person, with as much interest as though she were my own child.” ‘*Oh! thank you, sir, thank you! You area good and noble man!” The Unknown laughed, darkly. ‘Har from that, 1 am afraid,” he said, with a grim smile. ‘‘Still 1 am not so bad a man asl might be, yousee. Come! let us go.” They accordingly left the solitary camp and walked back to Death Notch, through the moon- light. The Unknown accompanied Mrs. Morris nearly to the tavern and then took Jeave of her, promising that he would devote his earnest efforts to the recovery of her daughter. Mrs. Morris then returned to the hotel, and to her room, which she had engaged earlier in the evening. It was a severe blow, this second disappear- ance of Myrtle, to the poor mother, whose ex- pectancy had been so wrought up by the words of the Unknown, concerning her safety. The following day was a gloomy one. The sky was black with ominous banks of clouds, and a steady unceasing rain poured down, from early dawn till dark. Yet within the cabin of the old chief, Red Hatchet, a cheery fire burned upon the hearth, and the chief and his daughter sat before it, the former seeking solace from his pipe, and the latter engaged on some fancy bead- work. “Tt is a wild day,” the chief grunted gloom. ily; ‘‘such a day it was that Red Hatchet was driven from his town, and nearly all his braves slaughtered, The thought causes the blood to boil in Red Hatchet’s veins, and his spirit thirsts for revenge upon the pale-face usurpers, more than ever before!” “Then why does not Red Hatchet go forward and claim his property? Was itnot deeded to him by the Government, in exchange for lands in the Colorado valley, which the Government wanted, because of their golden value?” ‘‘Prue! who speaks?”? and the old warrior turned about in surprise, for it was not Siska who had spoken, A young Indian, in full paint and regalia of a war-chief, stood upon the threshold—a strong, stalwart brave of straight build, and great muscular beauty, but whose every feature and style of dress proclaimed him to of a differ- ent race of red-men than Red Hatchet, who was of a tribe fast becoming extinct—the Pawnees. The stranger was further from the south and his features indicated him to be an Apache. ‘Who is the brave whose face is covered with war paint?’ Red Hatchet repeated, rising to his feet. “Dancing Plume is no common brave but a great chief of the Apache nation,” was the avon one § reply. ‘‘He comes from the arid lands of Arizona into the north, with his band of braves, to seek a home in the land of game and gold, and also a wife for his wizgwam. He hears of the wrongs that the pale-faves have in- flicted upon Red Hatchet, and comes to offer consolation.” “The Apache and the_Pawnees have ever been enemies; why does Dancing Plume then come and seek conciliation with Red Hatchet?” ‘* Because Red Hatchet is alone and unprotec- ted; because his spirit cries for revere upon the tenes usurpers of his rights, and Danc- ing Plume can avenge the Pawnee’s wrongs. His warriors are all young, brave and strong; they would call it but a play-spell, to clear away the pale-faces.” “Your words sound well, but Red Hatchet is not blind. The Apache had an object in thus coming to the aid of a foe of his race.” “Which Dancing Plume does not deny. Red Hatchet has a pretty daughter, whose beauty and goodness, is known widely. Dincing Plume néeds a princess for his wigwam. Red Hatchet is getting old and needs some one to hunt his game. Dancing Plume would take the Pawnee maiden as’ his wife, win back the town of Se- quoy, and with Red Hatchet dwell there in peace and prosperity.” ~Red Hatchet was silent a few moments; then he turned to Siska. offered to do,” of the Apache chief?” he asked, his eyes gleam- ing at the satisfaction afforded him by the younger chief’s prospectus. ‘*Siska has nothing to say. It was Red Hatchet who gave her to the Dwarf; it is for him to say whether he will break his treaty with Dthe warf, and give Siska to Dancing Plume,” was the reply. ‘“Ah! then another claims the Pawnee maiden,” the Apache said. “A pale-face Dwarf, to whom Red Hatchet esta Siska, if he would carry out Red atchet’s vengeance, as Dancing Plume has fhe old chief explained, ‘*Show him to me, and it shall be a struggle for the victory!” was the young chief’s de- mand. ‘If Dancing Plume falls, his braves shall win back the town and present it to Red Hatchet. Shall it be as the Apache har pro- posed? Let the Pawnee speak?” “Red Hatchet agrees, but Dancin must settle the difference with his rival!” ““Wagh! Dancing Plume courts battle! Why should he fear a pale-face dog, when from be hood he has led at the head of his tribe? The tomahawk shall be dug up; Dancing Plume will go for his braves, and ere another sunrise after the morrow, the war-whoop of the Apache shall echo through these valleys and mountains. Dancing Plume has said it, and he never lies!” Then, kissing bis hand to Siska, he turned and left the cabin, with a firm, stately stride. A bad outlook was there for the town of Death Notch;—a worse fate was promised those who had driven the Pawnees from their village, which an unscrupulous Indian agent hae illegal- ly assigned to them! Plume Carrol Carner prided himself on being a vil+ lain, and he had often said it, that the man who could conceive more efficient and novel schemes of rascality than he, was hard to find. The following day—the same that witnessed Dancing Plume’s visit to Red Hatchet—in the hight of the storm, the Mormon left the town, carrying with him in a bundle, a few articles which he calculated he would need, No one paid any attention to his departure except Calamity Jane, and she concluded that he had decided to quit the place before any trouble occurred, About the middle of the afternoon a stranger rode into the settlement, through the pouring rain, on the back. of a scrawny looking mule, and dismounting in front of the Poker House entered the bar-room. He was a medium sized man with bushy red beard and hair, and decidedly seedy-looking. He’d not recently visited a clothier, evident- ly, for his lower limbs were clad in dirty, patched overalls, thrust into the tops of a stogy air of beots. The trowsers were in turn met by a greasy red shirt, open at the throat, with accompaniment of a beltful of revolvers at the waist, and a slouch bat crammed down onto the head, until it almost hid from view the eyes. And dripping with the rain through which he had come, this sandy-complexioned gent walked into the bar-room and up to the bar, and gasped out “whisky,” in a wheezy tone, as if he had not lubricated his internal machinery very re- cently. Nor did he deign to stop at a mere glass, for no sooner had Poker Jack set the hottle upon tae counter, than he grabbed it up and allowed the contents to gurgle down his throat! When he had drained it to the last drop, he returned the empty bottle to the astonished bar- tender with a grateful sigh, at the same time planking a ten-dollar gold piece Ley the bar. ‘Stranger, thet war powerful bad ile—thar warn’t a hornet nor even a wassup in et, ter give et life,” he said, in the same wheezy voice, “but when a feller’s machinery ain’t ’iled et won run, an’ so I had to submit to the inevita- e “Well, I should allow et didn’t cost you much of an effort,” Jack grinned, ‘‘ferye did it right gracefully, and et’ll cost ye jest a V.” ‘Take ther saw-buck, pard—take et freely, fer I should hev given yer a twenty ef thar hed only been jest one good hornets’ nest in et.” Then, wiping his mouth, he turned aranely te survey the crowd which the pouring rain had driven into the house, It was a motley assemblage of rough-shod hu- manity, evil, sinister, and not pleasant to con- template. For several moments he surveved them, as if making aa inventory of their differen‘ natures; then he mounted a table, cleared his throat, and struck an attitude, as if about te deliver a ‘“ What docs my child say to the proposition ' stump oration, ey ee
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a SER TE Deadwood Dick’s Doom. ‘¢ dents—pilgrims—galoots in general, I want ter ask ye, do I luk like a cuss who would tell a lie?’ he began, in oratorical tones. ‘‘Do I] luk ary a bit less than a second George Washing- ton?” A silence among the crowd was his answer. They had not yet got an inkling of what he was driving at, ani preferred to keep mum. ‘‘ Brethren,” the brick-bearded bullwhacker continued, after a pause, ‘‘ ef doeth me dolorous to note thet ye hev yet received no inspiration from the honest reflection of my countenance, But sech is fate. Bear et in mind ever hence, beauties benign, thet a man who kin juggle down a quart o’ Death Notch petroleum wi’out ary a bumblebee in et, is an honest man. Moreover, feller-citizens, never look adversely upon one o’ yer sex because he is han’sum’, Et aire a phenomena pecooliar tew the male race v’ whites. I was once jest as humbly as ary prions present, but alas! [I’ve hed trouble, ’yees—dire trouble, and my benign and saint- ly resignation ter ther inevitable hes added luster and glorious angelic beauty to my phy- siognomy, despite all efforts of mine to the tontrary. But, I’m no saint, pilgrims; not a golden ha’r ner ther sprout uv a wing is thar about me. No sir-ee! I’m a warrior, I am—on ther war-path, yearnin’ fer gore! Sbell I tell you why, my disciples? Ay! I will, tho’ et thall wring tears from this heart 0’ mine as ‘arge as watermelons. ‘* Ter begin wi’, picter yexself a pleasant home of a well-ter-do merchant—who never took over seven drinks a day—in which war a wife anda sunny-haired child. Ther devil cums inter thet house, in ther figger of aman. His oily tongue tempts ther wife; she attempts ter flee with her tenipter, but her child clings ter her skirts au’ begs her not ter go. In a passion the wo- man smites her own flesh an’ blood to the floor, aud flies with ther devil. The child is found by ther fond father, in a dying condishun, aw’ with her departin’ breath, he sw’ars fer ven- geance. Years pass, but at last it draweth near. Pards, hyar before ye stands thet mer- chant;-do ye wonder he yearns fer bug-juice ter satiate his thirst fer revenge?’ “Go’r a’mighty, no!” declared Shakespeare. ‘Bilin’ full cl’ar ter my larnyx would [ be, ef I’d been thru sech trouble.” ‘*On course ye would, an’ ef I war ter assert ter ye. thet, after years of search Ive trailed my faithless wife hyar ter this ba house, ei all be willin’ ter lend a helpin’ hand ter vost her up ter a limb o’ ther furst convenient tree, wouldn’t ye?” ““ Ef evyer fabled monster Did perch upon er roost— Then we’re ther very pilgrims W’at’ll lend our hands—to boost!’’ quoth the poet, with a caper. ‘‘ For lordy sake, man, ef thar’s ary show fer a neck-tie party, issue yer invitations to us, ter oncet.” ‘““Then know thet ther murderess is in this hyar house, in the guise of a Mrs. Morris, an’ I her desarted husband seek revenge,” the stran- ger cried, fiercely. ‘‘ Hurrah! let’s give her the rope wi’out parley.” “Stop!” a voice cried; ‘don’t dare to disturb that innocent woman. See! this u.an is an im- postor!” and while speaking, Calamity Jane bounded forward from the hall where she had been listening, and tore a false beard from the ‘**honest’”’ man’s face. And there, exposed to the had cleverly deceived stood Mormon! aze of those he arrol Carner, the CHAPTER XI. THE POET PLOTS. For a moment after bis strange unmasking, Carrol Carner stood confronting the Girl Sport, almost speechless with rage; then he drew a knife and rushed fiercely at her, but stopped whe. he perceived that she held a cocked “‘ six ” in band, ‘* Slack up yer lokermotive, ef ye please!” she ordered, peremptorily, ‘‘or I shall perforate you. Didn’t ’spect I see’d you leave the tavern, did ye, and that I tumbled ter yer leetle game the minute I see’d you?” ‘Everlasting curses seizs you!” the baffled schemer hissed. ‘If you put up that pistol Pll kill you!” . ‘“‘Tt would be rather kind of me to give you that advantage, but I can’t hardly see ther point!” Calamity returned, dryly. ‘ And, I al- iow thet, fer yer own personal safety, et would be your likeliest move to make yourself scarce about this burg. In other words, I'll give you five minutes to git! If I see enough of your anatomy after that, to get a decent aim at, Pll eee “ But I protest!—Gentlemen, I appeal to you for protection!” the scoundrel cried, turning to the rough-shod audience he had just been ad- dressing. ‘* Will you see me thus bulldozed by this young tigress in breeches?” ‘‘T allow ye’ll hev ter fight yer own battle, ilgrim!” poetical Shakespeare asserted, with a Soon grin. ‘‘ Ye war superfine at pullin’ sheepskin over our eyes an’ we opine _ye'll hef ter rest on yer own oars—you bet! Ef the gal sez git, I allow thet is about the healthiest thing you kin do.” - ‘Yes, you bet, and you’ll need to be expedi- tious in order to get out of range of my pop-gun in the four minutes that yet remain,’ Calamity added, glancing at her watch. ‘‘Come! be moving, or you're a cadaver, sure! And recol- lect, if t evér catch you in this town hereafter, I shall pop you over without ceremony.” Carner gazed at her a few seconds with a face that was livid with rage, and then turned and strode to the door. ‘‘ Remember!” he cried, turning and shaking his elinched fist at her; | then he hurried forth into the pouring rain. Calamity followed him to the door, and kept her revolver leveled at him until he had left the basin, then she returned to the bar-room, from whence she went to her own apartment, up- stairs. The poet bullwhacker was a shrewder man than many gave him credit for being. While out- wardly Gann and boastful, he was capable of putting this and that together and forming some pretty correct conclusions, Among others he had.Jately conceived a little money-making plan of*his own, from things that had come to his notice. In the first place, he had by figuring and guessing concluded that the girl, Virgie Verner —or more correctly Myrtle Morris—was of more pecuniary value than ordinary girls, for the reason that she was wanted by two parties— first by Carrol Carner, who had offered five hundred dollars reward for her, and secondly by Mrs. Morris. How much could be extorted from her the bullwhacker bad no idea, but he had conceived an idea that she would be glad to pay still more handsomely. nthe second place, he had formed another idea that he could find the girl. He had twice gotten a glimpse of Old Scavenger, the Mad Dwarf—he had seen the terrible face of the Avenger at the tavern window ‘the night of Piute Dave’s death, and knew the Dwarf had been the one who had fired the fatal bullet simultaneous with the report of Calamity Jane’s weapon. Something argued to him that Virgie was in Scavenger’s power. Thus apinelndina she poet formed a determina- tion to obtain possession of the girl, himself, if possible, and surrender her to the one who would pay the most for her. On the day following, which was a pleasant, sunny one, he left the town, and spent his*time in the mountains and forests that surrounded | Death Notch, on every hand. His object in this was to obtain a glimpse of the Dwarf. One glimpse was all he wanted— he could then strike the maniac’s trail and follow it, no matter where it led—for not many years before the bullwhacker had been a scout upon the plains, and bad acquired great skill in picking and following trails. “Ter solve this hyar enigma Must I see his nibs contig’ me, Then may Satan all unrig me An’ bD’ars an’ wildcats dig me, Ef I do not find ther pigmy!” he said, smiting his brow. It was well along in the day ere he caughta glimpse of Old Scavenger descending a moun- tain path. The Dwarf had a haunch ofa re- cently killed deer upon bis shoulder, and was evidently making for his camp. No sooner did he spy him, than the poet secreted himself hastily in a clump of chaparral, and waited to learn which course the maniac would take after reaching the gulch. **Oh! now I’ve struck a lead; His trail Tl quickly read; I'll next thing git him treed, An’ waltz off wi’ ther gal—indeed!”’ was the poetical thought of the bullwhacker. Scavenger continued to descend the rugged perk, until he reached the gulch bottom, when ne paused and glared around him, as if toassure himself that no one wasin the vicinity, His eyes gleamed with a wild unnatural fire, and ee er he was a horrible object to see. That he was utterly insane no one could doubt, who beheld him. LT —_— After a moment’: survey of his surroundings, he turned and stracde up the western course of the gulch, which led into the heart of the wood- ed mountains. Allowing him to get fairly out of sight, the bullwhacker then emerged from concealment, and took up the trail, and followed it, step for step. Pine I shouldn’t find ther gal, Ti be mad- der’n ther hornet who out o’ spite bit off his own ear,” he soliloquized. ‘I allow, however, thet ’m on ther right trail.” The Dwarf led him a long walk ere the desti- nation came into view, and caution required the trailer to stop. The Avenger’s camp was in the gulch bottom in a little forest glade. A rude camp-lodge of boughs had been constructed for shelter. ear this, upon a log, sat none other than Virgie Ver- ner—or Myrtle Morris, the Mormon’s bride and victim. She was not free however. A strong small- linked chain was locked about her waist, and ' then fastened to the strong limb of a tree over- head which shaded the spot where she sat. From his position which was several rods dis- tant from the camp, Shakespeare could not hear anything thet was said by either the fair prisoner or her captor, but he saw the Dwarf shake his fist at the former, as he laid down bis haunch of meat. “The cussed leetle skunk is ugly ter her, I opine,” the poet grunted, disapprovingly. ‘© Wonder ef I hadn’t better pop him over, and done with it? Guess, however, et would be best ter tackle him when he’s asleep, and secure him in the real flesh an’ blood. Ef I war ter put ’im in a cage, 1 expect [ could hire him out ter Barnum, as a curiosity.” It was getting dark, and not being particular. ly desirous of shedding human blood, the poe* ecided to postpone action until the Dwart slept. n the mean time, Scavenger buili a fire, ond slicing off some meat from the haurelh, with his. keen knife, spitted it upon a stick, and proceed: ed to roast it. When he had a sufficient quan- tity piaparer he laid several pieces upon a chip, and handed the food to Myrtle, who had been watching him, with a grave, anxious face. ‘*There! eat, you girl! that will bring t)« roses back to your cheek, for me to kiss away ! he said with a horrible grin. Myrtle pushed the meat away, in disgust. “T do not want anything to eat, 1% human beast!” she gasped, in horror. ‘ All I want of you is to release me, and let me go my way.” “Ob! bho! that would be kinder nic: , wouldn’t it?” be grunted. ‘* But, you’re in too much of a hurry, my rosebud, | wouldn’t send you off at night. You must wait till morning!” “Ab! then, will you release me? Oh! please say that you will?’ the young woman said, beer > oo ** Yes! yes! I'll release you—to be sure I will —from every earthly care, trial and tempta tion, Dll send you where Deadwood Dick sent my child—oh, yes I will! Pll cut yer pretty throat, an’ ye’ll die easy, an’ go straight to Jordan’s golden shores, on ther broad route!” Myrtle uttered ascream, as she comprehended his purpose. “Oh! surely—surely you will not harm me sir? Only promise me that you won't! What have I ever done that you should wish to kill me? : ‘‘ Nothing! nothing at all! but_I have sworn to kill every white hellion I could get a hold of, and I shall fulfill my oath. To-morrow, just at sunrise, you shall die, and there will be another notch upon Red Hatchet’s tally-pole, put there by me. Ha! ha! ha!” And he laughed Jike a demon incarnate, as he was. Poor Myrtle! What else could she do more appropriate than induige in a good hearty ery!—which she did, It did nct affect the Avenger, however, for he ate ravenously of raw meat, after which he smoked his pipe, and rolled himself up in his blanket near the fire, preparatory to going to sleep. Myrtle’s chain was of considerable length, so that she could enter the hut and recline upon a bed of boughs which had been provided for ber, Outside the camp, the bul!whacker poet waited impatiencly for the midnight bour to arrive, having decided that it would be his best | time to act. It came, at last, and he stole stealthily for- ward, with cat-like tread, into the glade, a ' cocked revolver in his hand ready for use in case necessity compelled him to fight for his . prize.
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14 He soon reached the Dwarf's sile without arousing him. Then, armed with a rope he sprung upon the unsuspecting Avenger, and se- cured his hands in almost a twinkling; then his feet; so that Scavenger was utterly powerless to move by the time he had fully awakened to a sense of what was going on. ** Curses on you!” he gasped, struggling to get ' free. ‘“‘Whoare you?—what do you mean?— what d’ye want?” ‘“‘My name is William Henry Shakespeare, ther poet o’ ther West, an’ philosophical protec- tor of the wimmen’s rights,” the bullwhacker declared, ‘‘I’m goin’ ter bind ye ter a tree fer wolf-fodder—then waltz off wi’ yer captive!” And he wasas goodas his word. Securely binding the Dwarf to a tree, he then entered the tent, bound Myrcle hand and foot, and throw- ing her over kis shoulder, strode away out of the glade, followed by terrible curses from the lips of Old Scavenger, CHAPTER XII. OLD SCAVENGER’S SCALP. Nor long after the departure of the bull- whacker, Old Scavenger had quite exhausted his vocabulary of epithets, and relapsed into a more quiet state. “Curse the bullwhacker,” he hissed, ‘‘ he has robbed me of my vengeance, and tied me here at the mercy of the wild beasts, or any passer- by who might be of a disposition to torment me. o! who comes here?” In the early moonlight, he saw a man enter the glade, and stride directly toward him. Nearer he approached, and the Avenger was enabled to make him out as an Indian in full war paint. It was Dancing Plume the Apache. A shiver of dread and doubt went over the Dwartf’s figure, when he perceived it was notold Red Hatchet, as he had at first believed. What would the Indian do to him? Perhaps take advantage of his helplessness, and scalp and torture him! Not so demented was Scavenger as not to re- alize the doubtful comfort of such a proceeding. But, Dancing Plume was not that kind of a warrior. He was willing and not afraid to meet an enemy face toface, weapon to weapon. He had accidentally discovered the captive Dwarf, from the edge of the glade, and recog- nizing him as his rival in the suit for the hand of Siska, he resolved to take advantage of the opportunity thus afforded to come to a settle- ment. ‘““Wagh! what is the little poodle pale-face doing, in this shape?’ he demanded, pausing be- fore the Avenger, and surveying him, sternly. “ Why is he bound to a tree?” ‘* A cussed bullwhacker took me a prisoner when I was asleep, and left me in this condi- tion,” Old Scavenger replied. ‘‘ You’re good Injun—you will set me free.” ‘Dancing Plume will set the pale-face free, but he must draw his knife and fight for his scalp and his life,” the Apache chief responded, gruffly. ‘*But, why? What have I ever done that you should wish to force me into a fight?’ avenger demanded, in alarm, for, though of is prowess, himself, he was aware that the paches are wonderfully accomplished in the use of the knife. * Poodle pale-face is Dancing Plume’s rival!” the young warrior answered. ‘He holds a claim upon Siska, the mountain flower, and Dancing Plume also claims her. Therefore, the poodle pale-face must win her: by killing ae Plume, or lose her by losing his own e As he concluded speaking, the young war- ehief cut ng inst bonds, and then stood on guard, his keen blade ready for use. “Draw your knife and strike,” he said, firm- ly. ‘‘It need not take long to find out who wins the mountain maiden!” Scavenger measured his opponent with his wild eyes, for a moment, and then shook his head, doubtingly. “The Indian is too skilled with the knife for be roe to hope to win. Therefore—Pll ski nd, even as he spoke, he dodged to one side, and ran for dear life. But in this he had counted without his host. His first leap had not taken him so far that he could miss a terrible blowin the back from Dancing Plume’s knife—a blow that promised to weaken him beyond the power of flizht. We will pass over the scene that f lowed as something too horrible to describe. Suffice to say, when he presented himself at aS me Deadwood Dick’s Doom. the cabin of Red Hatchet, that evening, Danc- ing Plume wore dangling from his belt the reek- ing scalp of the Dwarf Avenger. CHAPTER XIII. TWO SENSATIONS. SEVERAL days passed, thereafter, without any incident worthy of mention. Mrs. Morris remained at the Poker House, in Death Notch, anxiously awaiting, from the Un- known, tidings of her lost daughter. Calamity kept her company most of the time, and did much to cheer and comfort her. Not a glimpse had been caught of Carrol Car- ner since his departure at the order of the girl sport, and it was hoped that he had cleared out for good. On the fourth morning after the night of Old Scavenger’s death, the town of Death Notch was ‘‘billed like a sareus,” as one miner re- marked, Posters, hand-printed, were stuck up in every conspicuous place; and, what was more, they were the proclamations of two sep- arate parties, each having a different subject to un fold to the gaping assemblage that swarmed forth to read them. First and most important to the average citizen, was a poster concerning themselves, which read thus: = ““Noricr, “To the pale-face dogs who drove Red Hatchet and his tribe from the town of Sequoy, which the Government had given him, warning is given that unless they fly at once to their own pale-face coun- try, their scalps shall hang upon the lodge-pole of “Dancina Piumn, Chief of the Apaches.” The meaning was plain enough, but the rough men of Death Notch did not take any ‘stock’ in it. More than one threat had been thus hurled at them by Red Hatchet, but had not been ex- ecuted; what reason had they to believe that this one would be? The other poster was framed in language more familiar, and ran: * Noticr! To every man, female an’ cherub wi’in ther classic precincts of Death Notch: On ther morrow, at sunrise, I, William Henery Shakespeare, shall expose at public auction, from on top of Picter Rock, nigh yer town, ther following property, ter wit: ‘ “One Purty Piece o’ Humanity, 0’ ther femernine gender, aged about twenty; good sound teeth; travels ar ge good jog; sired by a Californy chap; warranted gentle and good lukin’. Found astray in ther mountings, an’ will be sold ter ther highest bidder, ter defray expenses of keepin’ an’ transper- tation. Dog-goned gud barg’in. “Purty as a new wax figger; Jes’ like a angel—but leetle bigger; Sweet as blazes—bet yer life— Chance fer pilgrims ter git a wife. ‘* A big attendance is desired. “ WruiamM H. Sa#akesprarr, Auctioneer.” This created more of a sensation than Danc- ing Plume’s proclamation. alamity read it, and at once communicated the news to Mrs. Morris. “Et’s your boss chance to git back yer gal!” no said. “The one who bids the most gets er! “But, I can do oe I have but a hun- dred dollars with me, and it is more than prob- able that some ruffian would bid above that sum, to get my poor child in his power,” Mrs. Morris answered, in deep distress. ‘Ok! dear, what can I do?” ‘Well, we'll see,” Calamity said, meditative- ly. ‘*There’s allus more than one way out of the woods, and we'll work it, somehow. I don’t happen to be over-flush with ‘ bits,’ myself, or I might add a little to your pile. I'll go out and skirmish, and see what I can find, for we must be prepared to bid smart, to-morrow.” he went down stairs, and for a wonder found Poker Jack the only inmate of the bar-room. He was seated tipped back in an easy-chair, engaged in reading, but looked up with a nod. “Pleasant morning, Calamity!” he saluted, ‘Quite a sensetion stirred up again, eh? to break the monotony ?” ‘*So it seems, Jack. I allow I did you a squar’ deal, when you were in trouble, once, up in Deadwood, didn’t I?” “You bet ye did, Calamity, and I have always remembered it, because I’d been subject to a funeral expense, but for you.” ‘Well, Twas handy to help you, and con- sidered you deserved it. And,‘now, if I was to ask a favor of you, what would you say?” “Pd grant it, in a minute, old friend. You have but to name it.” “Well, I'll tell you what I want: I want money to bid off Mrs. Morris’s daughter, to- morrow!” Then she went on and explained the cireum- stances already known to the reader, Jack listened a few moments, scratched his curly head. “ Well, I allow I can do a little toward rem- edying the difficulty,” he announced, ‘ Let the girl go fer what she will, Pll get her. Mrs. Morris can bid as high as her pile goes, and Ill take care of all above it.” CHAPTER XIV. DEATH NOTCH NO MORE—A CLOSING ACT. THE next morning dawned brightly, and by sunrise nearly every man, woman and child of Death Notch had forsaken the camp, for the scene of Shakespeare’s auction. Picture Rock was a high mass of rocks deposi- ted in the gulch a few hundred rods beyond the town, The sides were almost perpendicular, up and down, rendering it impossible to reach the top of the pile except by use of a rude stone staircase which Indians of past ages had hewn out—and these were so arranged that a person at the top could easily defend himself from the attack of a small regiment, The sides cf these rocks were covered by grotesque pictures of Indians, animals and rep- tiles, which had been chiseled there by rude and savage sculptors. Upon the top of the rock two blocks of stone answered the purpose of chairs, and on these the poet and his prisoner were seated. Poor Myrtle’s face was tear-stained and wors a sorrowtul expression, but it lighted up, and she gave a cry of joy when she saw the familiar face of her mother. “Oh! mamma! mamma!” she cried, putting forth her hands—“ save me!” “Yes, my child!” Mrs. Morris cried, tears standing in her eyes. “Have courage, dear est!” When hesaw that his audience had gained about as large proportions as it was likely to, the bullwhacker arose, a pair of cocked revol. vers in his hands, ‘‘ Feller-citerzens!” he cried, “‘et does me roud ter see ye allhere. I knew you'd cum, baratise ye all wenter bid fer my pr.ze. She's mine; I ceptured ber, an’ ’m goin’ ter sell ’er fer ther highest market price, an’ I'l] shute thei furst one who tries ter take her, afore I’m paid, Now, how much do I hear fer ther gal—how much fer her, jest as she is? Recollect—terms ar’ cash, on delivery o’ geods.” “Two bits!” cried a miner. “Vifty dollars!” cried another. “One hundred!” shouted still another. ‘‘That’s et! keep the ball in motion boys? the poet cried, with enthusiasm. ‘*Put all the vallue on her ye can, fer ye know I allus invite ther crowd to drink when ther state o’ my finan- ces will admit!” “‘}’j1 give a hundred more!” Poker Jack said and then me ‘“‘Two—two hundred dollars I have—who’ll make it three?” ‘“‘Five hundred—lI’ll give five hundred!” a voice cried—the voice of Carrol Carner, but, just where he stood among the crowd no one could see. ‘‘ [ll make it a thousand!” Poker Jack cried. “Tm going to have the girl, gentlemen; so the rest of you might as well give up.” “Twelve hundred! e’ll see who has the girl!” the voice of Carrol Carner again cried, and this time Calamity was on the watch and saw whence the voice emanated. The Mormon was rigged out with long black beard and hair, and accoutered with miner’s habiliments, and was also armed with a pick, shovel and pan. “Tf I keep my word, I’ll have to go over and lug him,” she mused. ‘‘ I'll wait and see, first, iow this turns out.” “T}] raise it to fifteen hundred!” Poker Jack said, promptly, “ and I’ve got the ducats to pay it.’ “Look! look!” some one shouted, and all eyes were turned down the gulch. Coming toward them, mounted upon a flying horse, was the Unknown, yelling and waving his hat above his head. : Behind him, not hardly out of rifle range, came a dark mass of horsemen, whose horrible screeches and nodding plumes proclaimed them to be Indians! Tn an instant all was consternation and con- fusion, and flight was made in every direction. No one thought of aught but their own safety, except Poker Jack. Even he was alarmed, but saw that action was necessary. He saw the bullwhacker desert ogee
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Deadwood Dick’s Doom. 15 his prize by leaping from the rocks and seeking flight; he saw one black-whiskered man make for the staircase, and knew it was the Mormon. Drawing a revolver he fired at bis legs, and brought him down to the ground, howling with rage. ** Quick! quick!” he cried to Myrtle, running to the foot of the cliff; ‘* jump off and VU catch you! Though bound and helpless, she contrived to fall over the edge, and he caught her neatly in his arms, Then, still carrying her thus, he bade Mrs, Morris follow him, and dashed up a narrow ravine, which none of the others had taken. Nor did he pause until he had, with the pre- cautions of a veteran scout covered their trail, and reached a place of safety in a mountain cleft, several miles from the Picture Rocks. Here for the present they were in no danger of molestation from foes, either red or white. The same could not be said of the others. Like a hurricane of wrath the warriors under the lead of Dancing Plume swept down in pur- suit of the late residents of Death Notch, and shot down and scalped them without mercy. Some may have escaped, but it is doubtful if many didso. Among the fortunate ones was the Unknown, whose horse was fleet enough to carry him beyond the reach of the savages. Only one prisoner was taken back to the ill- fated town of Death Notch, and that one was Calamity Jane. After remaining several days in the moun- tains, Mrs. Morris and Myrtle, escorted by Poker-Jack, started on foot for the nearest rail- way station, which they reached after about two week’s travel afoot. From there they re- turned to California, Jack still accompanying )them and defraying their expenses. And he having decided to livea more respecta- ble existence, it is not impossible that Myrtle will reward him with her hand at no far distant day. For several days Calamity was. keps locked up ina eabin, which was guarded by savages, and left to herself, except when some food was brought her. One evening she was greatly surprised to see the Unknown enter the cabin. ‘*Come!” he said. ‘‘ Your imprisonment is at anend.: I have, through the kindness of Red Hatchet’s daughter, secured your freedom, with the proviso that we both leave this place for- ever!” She at once consented, Tf she went with him, her fate could be little if any worse than if she remained with the savages. Therefore they both mounted horses, outside the cabin, and rode forever away from Death Notch! Two days later they arrived in sight of Pioche; here the Unknown drew rein, and said: “Calamity! Is it possible my deception has been so clever as to deceive your shrewd eyes all this time? I am Deadwood Dick, who bolds a mortgage of betrothal against you!” And he removed the disguise that had served him since being rescued from the quicksand— which rescue, he explained was performed by Biska, the Pawnee, just as it was almost too late. Doomed he had been; but for her he would have perished from the face of the earth by a terrible death, and he willed that it should be so, ever after, in the minds of the people of Death Notch, and had therefore adopted and maintained the disguise of the Unknown. That night in a private parlor at Pioche Dick and the poor, sore-hearted, but brave an true Calamity were married, and the author joins in the wishes of his readers that they may ‘live long and prosper;” they, the two wild spirits who had learned each other’s faults and each other’s worth in lives branded with com. mingled shame and honor. THE END. The Sunnyside Library. 1 Latta Rooxn. By Thomas Moore........... 10c. 2 Don Juan. 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1 Deadwood Dick, tum Price or THE Roap, Bdward L. Wheeler. 2 owstone Jack, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 3 Kansas King; or, THe Rep Ricgur Hanp. Buffalo Bill (Hon. Wm. F, Cody). 4" Wild-Horse Hunters. By Captain Mague Reid and Captain I’'rederick Whittaker. 5 Vv bound Joe, THE YouNG WANDERING JEW; ;: wis T™Na ror A Lecacy. By Oll Coomes. : 6 1 Biddon, Trapper. By E.S. Ellis. | 7 Whe Flying Yankee; or, ‘'He Ocean Ovr- | Gase. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, | 8 Seth Jones. By Edward §. Ellis. 9 Adventures of Karon Miunchausen, 0 Mat Todd. By £.5. Ellis. 1 Phe Kwo Detectives; or, Taz Forrunss ov 4 Bowmry Girt. By Albert W. Aiken, Galliver’s Travels. By Dean Swift. The Dumb Spy. By Oll Coomes, Aladdin; or, ‘iam WonprerFvL Lamp, Phe Bea-Cat. By Captain Fred. Whittaker. Robinson Crusoe. (27 Lilustrations.) Malph Boy, tur Boy Buccaneer; or, THE | Foarrive Yacut. By Col. Prentiss ge, lego Stndbad the Sailor. His Seven Voyages. 19 Phe Phantom Spy. hy Buffalo Bill. 20 Phe Double Daggers; or, DEApwoop DIck’s Deytance. By Edward L. Wheeler. 21 e Frontier Angel. By Edward S. Fllis. 22 ‘Phe Sea Serpent; or, THe Boy Rosinson 5 pag By Juan Lewis. 23 Niek o° the Night; or, THe Boy Spry or 76. T. C. Harbaugh. 24 Diamond Dirk. By Colonel P. Ingraham, 25 'Bhe aon, Captain. By Roger Starbuck. 26 Gloven Hoot, tar Burrato Demon; or, THE Borpger Voutures. By Edward L. Wheeler. 27 Amtelope Abe, THe Boy Guipe. Oll Coomes. 28 Buffalo Ben, THE Prince OF THE PISTOL; or, Drapwoop Dick cn Disauise. EK. L. Wheeler. 29 Khe Dumb Page. By Capt. I’. Whittaker. 30 Roaring Ralph Rockwood, THE RECK- Less Raneor. By Harry St. George. 31 Keen-Knife, Prince of THE Prairies. By Coomes. 82 Bob Woolf, THe BorpeR RvrFiAn; or, THE @te~t Drap-SnHot. By Edward L. Wheeler. 33 The Ocean Bloodhound; or, THE Rep PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEES. By 8. W. Pierce. 34 —— Sol 3 or, Nick WuiFrrLes’ Boy Spy. fh rt ff fet for fer QR IQ wo t. J. F. GC. Adams. 35 Wtid Ivan, THe Boy CiaupE DovaL; or, THE BrorHernoop oF DratH. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 36 @he Boy Clown. By Frank S. Finn. 87 B@he Hidden Lodge. By T. C. Harbaugh. | 38S Ned Wylde, THe Boy Scour. By Texas Jack. 89 Death-Face, Tan -Derective; or, Lire AND Love In New York. By Edward L. Wheeler. tO Roving Ben. A Story or 4 Younc AMERI- oAN Wao WANTED TO SE THE WorRLD. Marshall. 11 Lasso Jack. By Ol] Coomes. | t2 The Phantom Miner; or, Drapwoop | Drex’s Bonanza. By Edward L. Wheeler. | {3 Diek Darling, THe Pony Express RIDER, | 4 eg Frederick Whittaker. 44 Battling Rube. By Harry St. George. #5 O14 Avalanche, THE GRieAT ANNIHILATOR; Wiip Epona, THE GirL BricanD. E. L.Wheeler. 46 Glass Eye, THE GREAT SHOT OF THE WEST. %, Capt. J. F.C, Adams. ; 47 ‘htingale Nat. By T. C. Harbaugh. ohn, THE RoAD-AGENT; or, THE OvuT- 48 Black Laws’ Retreat. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 49 Omaha Oll, tHE Masked TerRROoR: or, DEAD- woop Dick in Dancer. By Edward L. Wheeler. 560 Burt Bunker, tHE Trapper. C. E. Lasalle. 51 The Boy Bilfles. By Archie C. Irons. 52 The White Bufialo. By C. E. Lasalle. 53 Jim Biudsoe, Jr., tHe Boy PHuENIX; or, PuRover ro Deara. By Edward L. Wheeler. 564 Ned Wazel, tue Boy Trapper; or, THe PHAN- Princess. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 65 Deadly - Kye, tHe UNnKkNown Scour; or, THE 66 Wick Whifiles’ Pet. NDED BRoTHERHOOD, By Buffalo Bill. Capt. J. F. C. Adams, 69 Deadwood Dick’s Kag nc ape THE PARDS or FLoop Bar. rarer L. Wheeler. , 68 Whe Border King. By Oll Coomes. 68 Old Mlickory. By Harry St. George. 60 The White Indian. Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 61 Buckhorn Bill; or, Taz Reo Rirce TEAM. By Col. P. Ingraham. Edward L. Wheeler. $8 e Shadow Ahip. 2 68 The Med Brotherhood, W. J. Hamilton. 64 Dandy Jack. By T. C. Harbaugh. os Wurricane Bill. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Gimgie Biand. By W. J. Hamilton. 67 Patent-leather Joe. By Phiii 68 Berder BReobin Heod. By 69 Geld Bitde, THe SHARPSHOOTER; Darsourve or THe Buack Rancu. by Wheeler. 7@ Old Zips Cabin; or, Tot GREBNHORN IN tux Woops. By J. F. C. Adams. 71 Delaware ek. By Oll Coomes. 72 Mad Tom Western, THE TEXAN RANGER; or, THE oF THE PrRAmix. By Hamilton. 13 Deadwood Dick on Deck; or, Cauamiry | Jann, THE Herows or WHoop-Up. By Wheeler. 74 Hawk-reye Biarry. By Oll Coomes. 75 The Boy Duelist; or, Tou Cevimex OF THE | fiexa-WoLr. By Col. Prentias Ingra/sam. 76 Abe Colt, Tur Crow-Kiipe; ¢7, Toe GREAT Paenrinc MAN oF THX Warer. By A, W. Aiken. yh f Cepeda’? A 76 Bia Diek. B per Reid ue BDiek. By ayne q 79 B01 Ginger, Giant Trapper. By A.W. Aiken. 80 Bosebu Hob; or Tam Guicn. By 81 L'‘ghiming Jo. S. Warne. uffalo Bill. or, THE Boy By Captain J. F. C, Adams. 82 Kit Haretoot, THE Woop-Hawk; or, OLD Powper-F'ack AND His Demons, By Harbaugh. 83 Rollo, the Boy Ranger. By Oil Coomes. 84 Idyll, the Girl Miner; or, Rosesup Ros oN Hanno. By Edward L. Wheeler. 85 Buck Buckram; Trapper, By Captain J. F. C. Adams. 86 Daudy Bock. By G. Waldo Browne. 87 The Land Pirates. By Capt. Mayne Reid. 88 Photograph Phil, tHe Boy SLevrg; or, RosEsuD Ros’s REAPPEARANCE, By E, L. Wheeler, 89 Island Jim. By Bracebridge Hemyng. 90 The Dread Rider. By G. Waldo Browne. 91 The Captain of the Club; or, Tue Youna Rivat Aruuetes. By Bracebridge Hemyng. 92 Oamada Chets or, OLD ANACONDA IN SITTING Buu's Camp. By Edward L. Wheeler. 93'The Boy Miners, By Edward &. Ellis. 94 Widnight Jack, THE Roap-AGENT; Tue Boy Trapper. By T. C. Harbaugh. 95 The Rival Rovers. Lieut. Col. Hazeltine. 96 Watch-Kye, THE SHADOW; or, ARABS AND ANGELS of 4 GREAT Crvy. By FE. L. Wheeler. 97 The Outlaw Brothers, By J. J. Marshall. 98 Robin Hood, THE OvTLAWED EArt; or, THE Merry MEN ofr GREENWOOD. Prof. Gildersleeve. 99 The Tiger of ‘Taos; or, WiLp Karr, DANDY Rock’s ANGEL. By George Waldo Browne. 100 Deadwood Dick in Leadville; or, A STRANGE STROKE FoR Liserty. By Wheeler, 101 Jack HMarkaway in New York, By Bracebridge Hemyng. 102 Dick Dead-KEye, THE Boy Smvuaca er; or, Tue CRUISE OF THE VIxEN. By Col. Ingraham. 103 The Lion ot the Sea. _ By Col. Delle Sara. 104 Deadwood Dick’s Device; or, THE Sian or THE DousLE Cross. By E. L. Wheeler. 105 Old Rube, THE Hunter. Capt. H. Holmes. 106 Old Frosty, Tue Guive, By T. C. Harbaugh. 107 One-Eyed Sim. By James L. Bowen. 108 Daring Davy, THE YounG BEAR-KILLER; or, Tur TRAIL OF THE BORDER WOLF. H. St. George. 109 Deadwood Dick as Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler. 110 The Black Steed of the Prairies. A Thrilling Story of Texan Adventure. By Bowen. The Sea-Devil. By Col. P. Ingraham. The Mad Hunter. By Burton Saxe Jack Hoyle, THE YounG SPECULATOR; or, Tue Roap to Fortune, By Ed. L. Wheeler. The Black Schooner. Roger Starbuck. The Mad Winer; or, Danpy Rocr's Doom. By George Waldo Browne. he Hussar Captain; or, THE Hermit or Heut-Gate. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Gilt-Edged Dick, THe Srort DErectIvE; or, THe Roap-Acrent's Daveutrer. Wheeler. Will Somers, Ture Boy Detective. Morris, Miustang Sama, THE Kina OF THE PLAINS. By Jos, E. Badger, Jr. The Branded Hand, By Frank Dumont. Cinnamon Chip, THe GIRL Sport; or, THE GoLDEN [pou or Mr. Rosa. fd. L. Wheeler. Phil Hardy, Tux Boss Boy; or, THe Mys- TERY OF THE STRONGBOW. By Charles Morris. or, or ee wus =O CR 8 HS Oe to i) 23 Kiowa Charley, THe Wurre MusTanGer. By T. C. Harbaugh. 24 Tippy, THE Texan. By George Gleason: 25 Bonanza Bill, Miner. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 26 Picayune Pete; or, NicopEMUS, THE G Derective. By Charles Morris. Wild-Fire, Boss or THE Roap. By Dumont. Whe Young Privateer. By H. Cavendish. Deadwood Dick’s Double; or, THE Guost or Goraon’s Guitcu. Ed. L, Wheeler. Detective Dick. By Charles Morris. Whe Golden Handy; or, Danpy Rock To THE Rescue. By George W. Browne. The Hunted Hunter. By Ed. 8. Ellis. Boss Bob, THe Kine or THE Boorsuacks: or, THE PAWNBROKER’s Piotr. Ed. L. Wheeler. Sure Shot Seth, THe Boy RirLeMAnN; or THe Youna Patriots OF THE NortH. By Oll Coomes. Captain Paul, THe Kentucky MOONSHINER; or. Noe Boy Spy or THE Mountars. By Clark. Night-Hawk Kit, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. The Helpless Hand. Capt. Mayne Reid. Blonde il); or, Deapwoop Dick’s Home Base. By Edward L. Wheeler. Judge Lynch, Jr. By T. C. Harbaugh. Blue Blazes; or, THe BREAK 0’ Day Boys or Rocky Bar. By Frank Dumont. 141 Solid Sam, THE Boy Roap-AGEnT; or, THE BranpED Brows. By Edward L Wheeler. ww Bw WKLY ow =—S OO -_ en ee ee ee wnw w & So Fan - mele — | 142 Handsome MWiarry, tHe Boorsiack Dr- tTective. By Charles Morris. 143 Sear-Face saul, By Oll Coomes. 144 Dainty Lance, THe Boy Sport; cr, THE Bangk-BREAKERS’ Decoy Duck, J. E. Badger. 145 Capteis Ferret, tHE New York DErec- trve; or, Boss Bos’s Boss Jos. By Wheeler. 14G Silver Star, THE Boy Knicut. A Prairie Romance. By Oll Coomes. 147 Will Wildfire, THE THOKOUGHBRED; or, Tae Wisnina Hann. By Charles Morris. 148 Sharp Sam; or, THE ADVENTURES OF A Frrenpiess Boy. By J. Alexander Patten. 149 A Game of Golds or, Deapwoop Dicxz’s Bia Strixe. By Edward L. Wheeler. 150 Lance and Pry By Capt. F. Whittaker. 151 Panther Pau!, THe PRAIRIp PIRATE; OF, Darmsty Lance To THE Rescur. J. E. Badger. 152 Black Bees, Wir Wrprier’s Racer; or, WInnino AGaAtnst Opps. By Charles Morris. 153 Eagle Kit, rae Boy Denon. By Oll Coomes, 154 Whe Swerd Hunters. By ¥. Whittaker. 155 Gold Trigger, THE Sport. T. C. Harbaugh. 156 Deadwood Dick of Deadwood; /or, Tar Pickep Party. By Edward L. Wheeler. or, BrEss, THE IEMALE 157 Mike Merry, THe Harzsor Poiice Boy; or, Tue Nient-Hawks oF ELPHIA. Morris. 158 Fancy Frank of Colorado; or, THE TRAPPER’s Trust. By Buffalo Bill. Whe Lost Captain; or, THe Opn PoLaR Sza. By Captain Frederick Whittaker. Whe lack Giant; or, Dainry LANCE IN Jroparpy. By Joseph fe. Badger, Jr. New York Nell, rue Boy-Gmt DETEcrivy; or, OLD BLAKESLY’S Money. By E. L. Wheeler. Will Wildfire in the Woods. Morris. Little Texas, THe Youna MusranaEr. A Tale of Texan Prairies. By Ol! Coomes. Dandy Rock’s Pledge. By G.W. Browne. ' Billy Baggage, TH: RariLRoap Boy; or Run to Earrs. By Charles Morris. Wickory Barry. By Harry St. George. Asa Seott, Tum Sreameoat oy. By Willett. Deadly Dash. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Tornado Tom; or, INsun Jack From Rep Corr. ‘I. C. Harbaugh. A Trump Card; or, Wi. WILDFIRE Wins anp Loss. By Charles Morris. Ebony Dan. By Frank Dumont. Thunderbolt Tom; or, Tare WoLF-HERDER oF Tan Rockies. By Harry St. secre: Dandy Rock’s Rival. By G.W. Browne. Bob Kockeit, tar Boy Dovasr. By Morris. Captain Arizona, By Philip 8.Warne. Whe Boy Runaway 3 or, THE BuccANEER oF THE Bay. Lieut. A. D. Perry, U.S.N. Nobby Nick of Nevadays or, Tam Scamr or THE SrerRas. By Edward L. Wheeler. Old Solitary. By Oll Coomes. Bob Rockett, THe Bank Runner. Morris, The Sea Trailer; or, A Vow WELL Kept. By Lieut. H. D. Perry, U.8.N. Wild Frank, tHe Buckskin Bravo; or, Lapy Lity’s Love. By Edward L. Wheeler, CRAG CM S _ feet eet feet _ —— a a me eet pred fret feed mee CO Make ah akadabed shed eF GACH OAD o= = SSO SF Goh 182 Little Hurricane, THE Boy Capraln. By Oll Coomes. z 183 The Midden Wand; or, Wit WILDFIRE’s REVENGE. By Chas. Morris. The Boy ‘Trailers; or, Damty Lance on THE War-PatH. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Evil Bye, Kine or Carrie THirves; or, THE VULTURES OF THE Rio Granpe. By I. Dumont. Cool Desmond; or, THe Gampter’s Bia Gamz. By Col. Delle Sara. Fred Blalyard, tHe Lire Boar Poy; or, Tue SMUGGLERS OF THE InLET. By C. Morris. Ned Temple, THe Borprr Boy. Harbaugh. Bob Rockett, tux Cracksman. By Morris, Dandy Darke; or, THe Ticers or Hics Prine. By Wm. R. Hyster. Buffalo wa THE Boy BULLWHACKER, By Capt. A. B. Taylor, U. 8. A. ¥ Captain Kit, Tux WiL-0-1H ISP; OY, Tae Mystery oy Monravk Point. By Lieut. Harry Dennies Perry, U.8. N. Captain Mask, Tur Lapy Roab-AGEnT; or, Parent-Leatesr Jor’s Derecatr. By Warne. Buffalo Bills Bet; or, TH GAMBLER Gurmps. By Capt. Alfred B. Taylor,U.S.A, , Deadwood Dick’s Dreams or, Tm Rivats or THe Roap. By Edward L. Whcele: | Shadoweds or, Bop Rockett’s FieHT £0), Lirr. By Charles Morris. Little Grit, rae Wm River; or, THE Stock, TENDRER'S DAvGHTER. By Col. P. Ingraham. Arkansaw, THE Man WITH THE KNUPE; OF, Tue Quenn or Fate’s Revence. By T.C. Harbaugh. Featherweight; or, Tux Boy CHAMPION or THz Muskixaum. By Edward Willett. The Boy Bedouins. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. The Black Hills Jezebel; or, Dra» woop Dick’s Warp. By Edward L. Wheeler. Prospect Pete, or THE Boy BRIGADE; or, Tue Youre Ovrtaw Huntrurs. By Oll Coomes. The Boy Pards; or, Dainty Lance Un- masks. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. Gold Plume, THe Boy Banprt; or, THe Kip Guove Sport. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Deadwood Dick’s Boom. A Tale of Death Notch. By Edward L. Wheeler. Dark Paul, THe Tiese Kina; or, CAUGHT in His Own Trap. By Oharles Morris. Navajo Nick, THz Boy Gotp Hunter, A Tale of Arizona. By T. C. Harbaugh. The Boy Hercules; or, Tramps. By Oll Coomes. Fritz, THs Bovunp-Boy ~ S to PRAIRIE DerectiveE. By E. L. Wheeler. Faro Frank of High Pines or, Danny Darke’s Go-powNn Parps. By W. R. Hyster. Crooked Cale, THE CALIBAN oF CELESTIAL City. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Dashing Dave, tHe Danpy DrvrEcrive. By Charles Morris. Fritz to the Front; or, THE VENTRILO quiet Scamp-HUNTER. By E. L. Wheeler. Wolfgang, THE Rosser oF THE RHINE; or Tn, YoouekonaHT or THE ROSSICORDE, : by Captain Frederick Whittaker. a Captain Bullet, THs Rawr Kine; or, Ta Win Ross oF Qrvurn VaLuxy. By r.C Harbaugh. Ready September or . By Col, Prent ngraham, 216 Bison Bill y euity Beptcmber 1th, A new issue every week. The Half-Dime Library is re — — Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by m receipt of six cents each. RADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. 215