Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 998) (1896 09 08)
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A \ ‘hia EZALEZLZ 2 TS ’. OBBR-Cofs i > mt it at at at a a ll at <a. Zh NS Entered as Second Class Matter at the New York, N. Y , Post Office. ic? Copyrighted 1896, by BEADLE AND ADAMS, September 8, 18vi, ” $2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS. Price, Wal YYYTy: No, 998. a Year. No, 92 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. 5 cents. Vol XXXIX, padwood Oe) 1 hi wre ul ) . r ROTO [ANN fo rs ni ins wD HE BLUFF GAME GOLD LEDGE CITY BY EDWARD L. WHEELER, AUTHOR OF ‘‘ DEADWOOD DICK” NOVELS, ETC, os CHAPTER IL MAKING A PECULIAR DEPOSIT. A MAN entered the bank hastily, quickly Glos. the door, and looked furtively out of thé nearest window before he spoke. He was about sixty-five years of age, and wus shai bily attired, Under his lefi arm he carried se") thing wrapped in a dirty-looking cloth ana tied with a string. Seemi:., ly sntisfied with the survey, he “DANIEL MURRAY, YOUR BLUFF GAME ENDS HIGHT HERE!’ SAID DRAPWOOD DICK,
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+ Fe Deadwood ee Jr. 8, ‘Big ie ae turned from the window and approached: the first opening in 'the heavy wire net- ting that separated the interior of the bank from the public room, where he made the hasty inquiry: “Can I gee ‘the president of ‘this bank?” “He is not in, sir,” answered the tel- ' der. “The cashier, then?” The teller turned from the window and announced: “A gentleman to see you, Mr. don,” The casheir rose and came forward. Guer- “You want to see me?” closely scruti- | nizing the caller. “Yes; I have a valuable make, if you will accept it. into your private office? ”’ He looked toward the door as he spoke and craned his neck to take another look from the window, the cashier and teller at the same time exchanging a glance. deposit to May I come “What is the nature of your deposit, sir?” tthe cashier inquired. “Immense value, sir,’ was the re- sponse. here; I have reason to believe that I am in danger.” “ Well, step into the back room there, by that door,” indicating, ‘and I will join you immediately. Help yourself to a chair. I will not keep you waiting.” The old man stepped quickly to the door indicated, opened it, cast one more furtive glance toward the main entrance, and passed into the rear room. “J don’t know what to make of that man,” said the cashier to the teller, in a low tone. ‘‘ It may be a ruse to get at our funds. I will close the doors of the safe, and do you have your revolvers ready for instant use, in case others come in.” “ All right, Mr. Guerdon. They will not find the Gold Ledge National asleep. ‘But I do not look for anything of the’ kind; the old man impressed me as being sincere,” . * Yes; I think he is, too; but we cannot afford to take any chances. There, the funds are safe, anyhow, Keep your eyes peeled.” *T’ll do that,’ assured the teller. The cashier, having closed and locked the big doors of the safe, joined the caller in the rear room. The old man had taken a seat by the directors’ table, and was holding the cloth-wrapped package before him on ’ the table, as if afraid it might get away. “Now, sir, I am at your service,” said the cashier, sitting down. “My name is Wheaton—Henry Whea- ton,” the visitor announced. “Very well, Mr. Wheaton; and you want to make a deposit with us, I believe you said.” — ~ *Y¥es, that is ‘ity but not a deposit in dollars and cents— Wait; I will show you just what it is, and explain.” - So saying, he untied the string, opened the folds of the cloth, and disclosed a Silver casket, old and tarnished, which ‘he lifted up-and set forward on the table. “There, you see it,” he said, simply. “You want to leave that in our keep- ing, then?” “That is the idea.” “But, we do not do a_ safe-deposit business, my good man,” “You must not refuse me, for it is a very serious matter. This box is no longer safe in my possession.” “You say it is valuable?” “Tt is invaluable, sir, invaluable.” ““ All the more reason, then, why we should not undertake its custody.” I “That is to say,” the old gentleman | “Pray do not keep me standing | hastened ‘to modity: ‘it is , invaluable tio the owner. You must A Ast it, sir.’ * But we could not underiake to guar- antee you against its loss, in the event of burglary. You must assume all that risk, for we will not be responsible in any degree.” “Of course not; of course not. I do not expect that. All ' want is to put the casket in a safe place for the time being, and I am willing to pay you for the priy- ilege. It is no longer safe in my hands; I must not carry it out of this room,” “Some one is seeking to take it from you, then?” “Yes, yes; that is it.” “Did that person see you’ enter with it?” “No; I am satisfied that no one. saw me come in. I took the best of care to elude them.” “And how long do you want us to keep it for you?” “T may come for nere it in a short time; | I may have to leave it with you for a year or longer.” “And it is distinctly understood that we assume no responsibility in accepting it? We merely do it as a favor to you, under the circumstances?” “That is understood. Nevertheless, I am willing to pay you liberally for the service—”’ “No, no; I can take nothing. It is merely a favor, and even that is more than I feel justified in granting to a stranger. In fact, I would not do it, | were it not as you describe.” “Then, accept my thanks for the favor. There it is,’ pushing the box fur- ther along on the table. “I leave it in your keeping. All I ask is your word ‘that you will put it immediately into your most private safe, where it will be little seen and can awaken no curiosity.” “T will put it away immediately, Mr. Wheaton.” “Wait! In the event that I am unable to come for it myself—” “Ah! True enough! The person call- ing for it will require some written au- thority—” “And it must be such as you can read- ily distinguish from a forgery; for even that might be attempted if it became known where IJ had deposited the casket.” “Then, what do you suggest?” “One minute, and I will write the or- der in your presence.” There were pens, ink and paper on the table, of which the old man proceeded to make use, “There,” he said, when he had written something; “read that. That is plain enough, is it not?” a8 That is right to the point,’’ Mr. Whea- ton.” He handed it back again. “And now I tear it in two, thus,” said the caller. ‘‘ The one-half I will retain; the other half we will paste to the bot- tom of the silver casket. You have mu- cilage? ” ‘“T see only one objection to the plan, Mr. Wheaton.” i “And what is that?” “You intend to carry this piece of paper on your gchar Ai S Nee Rie “i Weil, is it, not equivalent to carrying the casket with you? The paper may be stolen from you and presented.” “How will the person know where to Just read the half of the or- retain, and you will see present it? der that I will that it will be impossible for him to find it. ” The accra sec the slip and read as follows: _ing here. “The Cashier of the National Bank wi the bearer the sil safe keeping: HEN “You are right,” the cashier agreed. “You carry the secret in your head, and no one but the person to whom you im- part it can possibly supply what is want- Very well, Mr. Wheaton; I think ‘this will answer the purpose.” ““And you will paste the other half on the box?” “ At once.” He arose and procured a bottle of mu- cilage, and it took but a moment to com- plete the requirement. The cashier noticed, as he handled the casket, that it was heavy, and also that, whatever it contained, it was securely packed, since nothing could be heard or felt to move. : As he put the casket down an inscrip- tion on the top caught his eye. He had not noticed it before, the en- graving being quite fine, and the casket tarnished as described. Holding it slantwise, so thai the light fell across it, the owner offering no ob- jection, the cashier read as follows: “Curst be the hand that breaks the seal and makes the. secret known.” CHAPTER II. WHAT DID MURRAY KNOW? Gold Ledge City was a well-established town. It had two newspapers, two banks, and many solid business institutions of va- rious kinds. Beginning as a mining-camp, it had been a success from the first, and, its mines continuing good, its prosperity seemed assured and lasting. It had now reached a point in its ex- perience where, taking away the mines that had made it, it must thrive anyhow, owing to the fine character of the sur- rounding country of which it was the center. But, the mines were still there, chief among them being the Gold Ledge, from which the camp had derived its name— the name that still clung to the place long after the outgrowth of almost every-~ thing that smacked of the former days. True, it was in the West, and Western ways prevailed; but the town, usually, was as staid as any town in New Eng- : land. of the two banks mentioned, Daniel Murray, its president, was the head, also, of the Gold Ledge Mine, and was, perhaps, the most prominent man in the town. His son, James, occupied the post of superintendent of the mine. Daniel was about forty-eight years of age, his son twenty-six, and they were as much alike as father and son can be. About the time when Henry Wheaton was in conversation with William Guer- don, the cashier, at the bank, the Mur- rays, father and son, were similarly en- gaged in the office of the mine, behind closed doors. That something was amiss was evident, for both were scowling. “Well, what is going te be done about — : ; it?” the son demanded. “Only one thing can be done,” the response, that is?” was “No, if you mean the same remedy i that was applied before. But, that is a dangerous business and one I do not like. What if discovery comes before we : aD can clear our heels?” a _ “Well, let it come if it must. ‘The “Need I mention what a The Gold Ledge National was the older —
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blame will not fall upon us; we are too shrewd for that, I hope.” “ When must it be done?” “ To-night.” “Yes, for we must make our ceposit to-morrow against pay-day the day after, as usual. Well, say no more about it; we understand each other.” “The sale will take place next week, if I can bring it around, and that will | clear up the whole business.” “Unless they bring with them experts. who will see through it.” “We must take care of them, if so.” *“ How?” “Salt is plentiful—’ “ Ah! I understand. work, all right.” And, parting, Murray the father off in the direction of the bank. It was usual with him to drop in fre- quently during the day, though he sel- dom remained long at a time, save when business kept him there. The cashier “ran” the bank, Murray was a large man, Well, if that will set | always well dressed, and wore a mustache, and a goatee after the Buffalo Bill order, He had heavy brows, a nose not so straight as would indicate integrity of character yet which denoted the man of much force of character. He nodded to the teller as he entered. “ How is everything, Coleman? ”’ “ Lovely,’”’ was the response: *““Mr. Guerdon in?” aS Yeu,. sir.” There was a little door in the partition that opened with a spring, the secret of which was supposed to be known to none save the bank officials and employees. Mr. Murray entered the bank proper by means of this little door, nodded to the two or three clerks, and crossed over to where the cashier was seated at his desk. Murray’s own desk occupied a prominent position, but was nearly always covered. “You are a little too late, Mr. Mur- ray,” said the cashier, looking up from some work he was doing. “Too late?’’ and the president looked at the cashier in a wondering way. “Yes; you might have met a new depositor.” “A new depositor?” Murray’s interest was awakened im- mediately. “He was a queer customer,” explained the cashier. “I hardly knew whether to accept his deposit or not. I wish you had been here.” “ How much did he deposit? ’”’ “JY should not have used that word. He did not deposit, really, but made us the custodians of a peculiar box which he claimed was invaluable.” “Then you are doing a safe-deposit business as a side issue, eh?” and Mur- ray laughed lightly. “JY thought of refusing it, but he seemed so thoroughly in earnest that I decided to humor him. Of course, we as- sumed no responsibility in the matter. Would not have thought it worth men- tioning to you at all, only that I want to show you the queer old box.” The cashier rose and stepped to the safe, and opening one of the inner doors, took out the silver casket, wrapped as it had been when first carried into the bank. He untied the string and unfolded the ’ ¢loth, precisely as the owner had done, and exposed the casket to view. At sight of it, the bank president gave ee start and turned pale. “My God!” he gasped. “It is fate!” The cashier dropped the cloth and looked at him in great amazement. ‘They were some distance removed from the teller and the others, and Mur- Deadwood Dick, Jr.’s, Big Play. | 3 ray looked in their direction while Guer- don looked at him. As the words had been uttered, in low tone, they had not drawn attention, and Murray pulled up a chair and sat down, taking care to speak in still lower tone. “Where is the man?” he asked. “ Gone,”’ answered Guerdon. “Yes, I know, but which way did he go?” “He insisted on my letting him out the rear way; said he was in danger and must not be seen.” “Tt is no use my trying to deceive you, after the words you heard me ut- ter,” said Murray. “I have seen this box before. But, on your life, Guerdon, do not mention the fact.’ “Certainly not, if you wish it so.” “Nor can-I explain to you. I say again, it is fate.” “Then you knew Henry Wheaton?” “Ha! he made use of. his real name, did he? I wonder if it can be possible— But. no, too many years have elapsed. Merely coincidence.” “You have greatly awakened my curi- osity, Mr. Murray, but I do not ask you | to explain, of course. Where I thought | I was going to arouse your curiosity, you have turned the tables.” “Tt is something I cannot disclose, Guerdon. Again let me impress you with the necessity of silence. When is he to come for it?” ‘““That is uncertain. He said perhaps in a short time; maybe not in a year or more.” “And his object in leaving it here, you said—-” ““Was because he believed that he was being watched and was in danger of losing it.” / “Ha! then he has given us something to care for that may tempt desperate men to try to get into.our safes, eh? IT do not like this, Guerdon,”’ “T’m sorry I accepted it, Mr. Murray; but to tell the truth I pitied the old -enan—” “ We'll keep it for him, since you did take it.” : CHAPTER III. THE FATE OF HENRY WHEATON. In the cool of the early morning, a lone horseman was picking his way down through a narrow mountain gulch. Not more than thirty years of age, he was a good-looking, fearless man with dark hair that fell in a mass upon his shoulders, a dark mustache, and keen, magnetic dark eyes. He was mounted upon a horse as black as coal, a clean-limbed, intelligent- looking animal that seemed to have im- bibed some of its master’s alertness and intrepidity. Its neck was arched proud- ly, and it stepped with a dainty lightness indicative of speed. The rider was sitting his saddle with an easy, careless and unconscious grace, evidently buried in thought. The horse was choosing its own foot- ing. Of a sudden the intelligent beast lifted its head higher and gave a low whinny. “What is it, Eagle?” the rider asked, rousing from his reverie and taking a swift survey around. ‘ What do you hear? ”’ The whinny was repeated. “Some one‘is near us, eh? Well, don’t ‘he alarmed. It may be a friend; but if not— Well, we have faced foes before, Hagle, and we will no doubt have to face them many times more.”- The horse came to a stop, ears pointed forward and nostrils distended. £ \ 7 Shins ire oa dans SA ep _ rap a ee "pl ede PR aa Cages pee see Tea eben —— 4 What is it Eagle?’ : dolsandoa the rider, in low tones, at the same time drawing a gun from its holster at his hip. “It is something more than usual. Go on!” Instead of obeying, the horse recoiled and betrayed something like a tremor of fear. “This is passing strange,’ the man said.to himself. “I must investigate. Be quiet, pet; nothing shall harm you.” Gun in hand, the rider slipped from the saddle and went ahead a few paces— but a few—when he discovered what had caused his horse its alarm. It was the body of a man. Lying beside the trail, close in under a ledge of overhanging rock, he had been. unable to see it, from his first position. The face was partly turned from him, but by the hair and beard he knew it was &@ man well on in years. And as he looked upon it he was startled to hear a slight moan. “Hello!” he exclaimed to himself. “ Alive, after all! Overtaken by robbers, no doubt, and left by the wayside for dead. I must do the Good Samaritan act, as my name is Deadwood Dick!” He had shoved his gun into its holster, while speaking, and now stooping, laid hold upon the man and drew him out into the full light. The man moaned again, moved. He was apparently sixty-five years cf age, shabbily attired, and had been se- verely wounded. There was a dark mark across one corner of his forehead, showing where he had been struck with some weapon, and the front of his shirt was stained with blooa Dick tore open the shirt and discovered no less than three knife-cuts, and he wondered that a spark of life remained. But he knew that death was near. Taking a flask from his pocket, he ap- plied it to the man’s lips, and then be- as hexres gan rubbing his cold hands. The horse had followed its master for- ward, and, after sniffing at the wounded man, uttered another whinny, low and plaintive, as if in pity, and rubbed ‘its nose affectionately upon its master’s shoulder. “ Yes, it is too bad, Eagle, that’s: the fact,” said Deadwood Dick. “If he can only rouse up enough to give us a clew, we'll attend to the scoundrel who did the deed, I promise you. But I am afraid — = past all return to consciousness— ; There was a fluttering of the eyelids, and the man opened his eyes. Dick applied the flask to his lips once more, and rubbed the cold and benumb- ed hands more briskly still. The eyes had closed again immediately, but breathing was not to be recognized, and the bleeding from the wounds was started afresh—which Dick tried to Stanch. He tore some bits from - the man’s shirt and forced them into the wounds, The dying man moaned, under this, and opened his eyes again. Dick spoke to him. “ Are you conscious? ” he inquired: The man moved his head to signify that he was. _“ Try to speak,” Dick urged. “ Tell me who did this, and as my name is spree wood Dick—” ; “ D—D—” The man had given a nat; ‘aed was | trying to say something. He was looking at Dick with eyes open | wide, eyes that were. becoming set with — the glaze of death,
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Deadwood Dick, Jr.’s, Big Play. a ne es ne “Yes, I am Deadwood Dick,” said Dick, guessing that it was his name the man tried to repeat. “Give me a clew to your murderer, and I will hunt him down.” The man made an effort to use his hands, but they fluttered only and were “mot obedient to his will. “ What is it?” Dick asked. ‘“ Just his mame, if no more.” « The dying man was drawing his face and moving his tongue, trying to bring moisture to his lips. Dick Bristol saw what was wanted; on the other side of the trail ran a little rivulet, to which he sprang and scooped up some of the water with his hands. » This he trickled into the man’s mouth, and bringing more, bathed his face and forehead, ““My—my fortune, man feebly panted. | “They murdered you?” The eyes closed, and for a moment my—my heirs,” the there was no movement to indicate that life remained. Then he shook ‘his head in the nega- tive. very feebly indeed, and egain open- ed his eyes. “Tf there is something important you would make known, say it quickly, old man,’ urged Dick, bending over him kindly. ‘I fear your minutes are num- bered.” “M—my fortune—my heirs—they— they—”’ Dick did not believe he would be able to get the clew he desired. The life was rapidly going out, he could see that, and the man was wasting his little remaining breath. “ Give me the name of your murderer,” Dick urged. “No?! no!” He not only spoke, but shook his head negatively, in response to that request. “You will not tell?” . Another negative. “Then what can I do for you? What is your dying request? You want to do something with your hands?” All this time the hands had been mov- ing about, feebly fluttering this way and that, and Dick took hold of one and at- tempted to guide it, and not without suc- cess. The hand sought the inside of the goat the old man wore, where the fingers made effort to perform some duty re- quired of them by the will, but without being able to do their part, and Dick pulled the coat open wide and made an examination. A hole in the lining, one having the appearance of having been cut there pur- posely, caught his eye, and he thrust his fingers into it. There he felt a bit of paper, which he drew forth, and the moment he did so the man allow ed his hands tc drop heavily and a sigh escaped _ him. The paper was this: } The Cashier of the National Bank wi the bearer the sil safe keeping. HEN _- —— CHAPTER IV. SOME ADDITIONAL. POINTS, ; Deadwood Dick read the paper at a plance. That is tc say he read the words; he war fa: from knowing what they meant. He knew that only half of the paper * wag there, and he felt in the same place - for the other half, but there “Was no Lf aes of course. “hie is all?” he asked. The man imease: “And what am I to do with it?” “ F—find Hor—Horace—” His breath seemed gone. Dick be- lieved that he would not be able to gather enough of a clew to be of use to him. “The name, urged. A moment’s pause. The man then opened his eyes, now almost sightless, and, as if realizing that simply the name,” he this would be his last effort, made it supreme. fe Dick saw him _ gathering all his strength, and listened closely and keenly to catch whatever might be spoken, at the same time watching intently in or- der that even the forming of the lips might aid him. “Find Horace Jeffries,” the man spoke. ‘‘ Give him the—the paper. All— all my for—fortune—his. N—not a cent —to—any—other.” “Horace Jeffries,’ Dick “Where is he to be found?” There was a pause, while the man fought for another breath. Would he be able to speak again? Dick doubted it. — “The place?” Dick urged. The man made an effort, but failed. “One thing more, just another name,” Dick tried to insist. “ Give me the name of the man who killed you.” To that, only a negative shake of the head. : : Dick had to believe that the man knew his slayer, who he was, but was de- termined to shield him. “This Horace Jeffries,” he hastened. “You see I do not forget the name. Tell me where to find him—where to get trace of him—and your dying wish shall be filled.” Yet another effort did the dying man make, and Dick knew it would be tie last. His lips parted, he strained, but no sound came forth. He seemed to remain for an age thus, so painful was the moment, and then his breast sank and his last breath was gone! Dick rose up. “Well, it is all over with him,’ he said, as he looked sadly on the remains. “T wonder who he was, where he was from, where he was going? And he spoke of a fortune— His looks give the lie to that, and yet—’” Dick finished by looking at the slip of paper he held in his fingers. “Not a clew,” the said to himself, “save this and a name. [ like to take hold of knots of this kind, however, and I shall make it my business to try to solve the mystery.” He remained in a thoughtful mood. “ Something strange,” paper has not been carried on his person long; it is as new and clean as if writ- ten only yesterday. And why has it been cut in half? a poser for you, Richard Bristol, enough.” Putting the slip of paper away in an inner pocket, he proceeded to examine the body further. He searched every pocket, but found not a scrap of anything further to aid him in the work. The pockets were empty, containing not even a button. “No use, Bagle,” he said, addressing his patient horse, standing by all this time. ; Dick looked around for a place to bury the body. — - There was no place; it was rock and repeated. sure ‘nothing but ‘rock everywhere. Seeing he could do no > etter, t he re- he musad, “ This I give it up. Here is’ turned the body to the spot where first discovered, and there placing stones around it, went on his way.. An hour later, he rode into a camp called Hustleville. Here he put up his horse and ohdered breakfast and began his first inquiries. “Did you see anything of an old man passing through this way yesterday, go- ing in the direction of Grub Stake?” he asked the landlord of the ‘‘ shebang’ where he stopped. ‘“Shabby-lookin’ cuss, with gray hair and whiskers? ” the landlord inquired. “Yes. “Sich a man as that took supper hyer last night.” “So? Did you learn anything about him?” “ Not much; he was a wary customer,” “In what respect? ” “Why, he was on the watch all the time, as if he expected some one to slip up and dig him with a knife.” “And what did you learn about him?” Dick pressed, at the same time appear- ing to have no more than passing inter-. est in the matter. “Did you find out where he was going?” “He let drop that he had come from Gold Ledge City, and that he was head- ing for Montana.” “Don’t suppose he mentioned any par- ticular place, eh?”’ “He did, though; he mentioned He- lena. Don’t know whether his home was there or not, but there’s where he was going.” “That all you know? ” “That's all, sir. Now, what was he to you? questions?” ““Another question or two, and then I will answer yours and explain the situa- tion. You said he appeared to be watch- ing for a foe, or on his guard all the time? ”’ “That’s jist how he acted.” “Well, did you see any one following him? ”’ “Not a soul, sir.” “ Did any one set out on the same trail after he had gone?” “Why, there is more or less travel on re trail; didn’t notice any one in p’tic- "Fars “Well, now I’ll tell you what’s up. I did not know any such person, but [ found the man dying in the gulch about six miles to the north of here—” “ Dying?” “Yes; dying of several knife wounds.” “Ha! then he wasn’t alarmed fer nothin’; sure enough.” “The evidence points in that direc- tion, that’s true, and it looks as if the murderer will get away, unless—” “Unless what?” as Dick paused, | “Well, unless your authorities are smart enough to find him out and Tun him down.” “Then he died?” 2 “Yes; died just after I discovered him,” “Didn’t he speak? WHadn’t he any ne to say? Didn’t he tell who done e ” -“No, I could not get that out of him. He said but little, and that only in gasps. I left the body lying where I found him, and thought I would report it at the first place I came to.” i “And where are you goin’? ” “Tt am heading for Gold Ledge City.” | i “Then you had better report it there. We'll send out and fetch in the body, and ‘3 the coroner kin ride over and set on et ef he wants to. The chances is he’ll fetch you with him fer a witness, a is sides Why have ye asked me so many 4 mM ° S20 © R2) \ ‘ n } A , 3 al ¥ To romh | «te at x n he wx eld bey wet me Wy, as : Sggulect Tied. . = hd iene 4 rm some one was stalkin’ his trail, ue aa a Ae age hcg tana are ee moe e. + wai
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——— - whik sence a murder has been done: hyerabouts.” “T am willing to do everything in my power toward clearing up the matter, of course,” said Dick. Conversation ran on, while Dick ate his breakfast and smoked a cigar after it; Dick trying to draw out something i that would serve as a clue, but failing. Finally, having inquired the distance, he set out for Gold Ledge City. CHAPTER V. MYSTERY OF A MURDER. Gold Ledge was aflame with ment. George Coleman, teller of the Gold ‘Ledge National, on opening the bank that morning, had made a fearful discov- ery.. The big safes were open, completely looted—as further investigation proved; but, worse than that, on the floor in front of the safe lay the cashier, dead, in a pool of blood. Coleman was overcome; but, recover- ing from the shock, he ran out into the street and gave the alarm. The news spread, and in a few minutes there was a great crowd in. front of the bank. Questions innumerable were fired at ' the teller while he stood on the steps awaiting the arrival of Mr. Murray, and he was glad when the president was seen coming. Daniel Murray and his son together came running from the direction of the Murray residence, and reached the bank nearly out of breath. Deadwood Dick, just arrived, drew up about the same moment. “What is this?” ““Guerdon dead?” At mention of the name, Deadwood Dick gave a start, but no one noted it. “Yes, sir,” said the teller, and briefly told his story. “This is frightful,’ said Murray. “‘James get hold of the sheriff and the coroner as quick as you can, and bring them here. We must do everything pos- sible to discover who has done this thing.” The son parted off, while _the elder mmounted the steps. “Do I understand that Mr. William Cuerdon has been killed?” inquired Deadwood Dick. Instantly every eye was turned upon him. “Who are you, sir?” demanded Mur- ray. “My name is Bristol.” “And you knew Guerdon?” “Through some correspondence with him—yes.” “ Yes, William Guerdon has been mur- dered; and I want to say that it will go hard with his slayer, if we can get hold of him,” “It generally does go hard with a mur- Phave been thinking, and two ideas have sug- gested themselves to my mind wuss: = .standing here.” :
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Bet. ee : A + comers Sais ceed Oe Me 4 - 7 Se Seer YEP VAT ns Z OM AUN Ser sin Ve 8 . wer at ¥ Deadwood. Disk, J r. 'S, s, Big Play. eome here and open ‘the cates at the point of a gun.’ “There is one thing in the way of the latter view of it,’’ quietly said Deadwood Dick. “What is it?’’ asked Crossen. “The fact that he is found here dead. Had he done that, it would have been to save his life.” “Well, that’s so, I .guess,”’ ray. Father and son looked at each other when chance offered. “And what of the other asked the sheriff. “It is more reasonable,” agreed Mur- theory?” said Dick. “But there is the question, what brought Guerdon here after hours?” said Mr. Murray. “I tell you, we are trying to see without a light, gentlemen.” “By the way, who, besides the cash- ier, knew the combination of the safe and how to open it?” inquired Dick. “T am the only other person, sir,” said Murray. “Then we are sure that it was Mr. Guerdon who opened it, at any rate. The question is, why did he do it?” “There is the riddle,” “And it is one that I shall undertake to solve,” said Dick. ‘‘ Working togeth- er, we ought to accomplish something, Mr. Murray.” “Yes, decidedly. And that reminds me, you said that your business here was to see Mr. Guerdon. In fact, I believe you said you had an appointment with him.” “You have it right.” “Suppose we step into. the back room, while the coroner takes hold of the mat- ter.” “Very well. And that reminds me of something else. There is another case for your coroner over at Hustleville.” “At Hustleville? What has been go- ing on over there?” They all looked at Dick with interest, to hear what further deed of violence had been done. “Why, as I was on my way from Grub Stake this morning, I came upon the body of an old man—rather, upon an old man, for he was not yet dead—who had been stabbed with a knife three times. He died a few minutes after I found him. I notified the people of Hustleville, and they, in turn, asked me to inform the coroner when I got here.” “Well, that case will have to wait now till this one is disposed of,” ‘said Mr. Hammond, “Did you learn the man’s name?” asked Mr. Murray. “No; but I did learn at Hustleville that he took supper there last night. He stated that he had come from Gold Ledge and was on his way to Montana. Possi- bly one of your citizens here.” “You say he was old?” asked Murray. = About sixty-five, I would say.’ “Describe him.” Dick did so. “Why, it must be the old man who «came in here yesterday to see Mr. Guer- don,” spoke up Teller Coleman. - Deadwood Dick’s interest was awak- ened in that direction in an instant, and jhe asked: © ‘ “Such a man came here to see Mr. - Guerdon?” Vou, ait. , OF, + be exact, he asked for the ‘president first, but as ie was” not - in, asked next for the cashier.’ “I had not thought of that,” said Mr, Murray, in a thoughtful mood. “I think we are coming at the mystery of poor _ Guerdon’s death sooner then we ‘believed . Doeuible, # “Then you cnow ta man—or hee him?” said Dick. ““No; but he was here yesterday, same one, and had a peculiar request to make of Mr. Guerdon. Come, let’s step into the back room, and I will tell you all about it.” He led the way, Dick following him, and the coroner took hold of the business he had in hand. “Sit down,” Mr. Murray invited. “We must talk this matter over and to a finish.” “A finish must be reached, somehow,” agreed Dick. They took seats by the table, and Mr. Murray lowered his voice when he spoke again. “You said Guerdon? ” ot Oke. “You had been in correspondence with him, then?” “T received two letters from him; one asking my private address, and the other bidding me come here for a private in- terview.” “ But, the business; what was the na- ture of the business? ” “Is it possible that you do not know?” “T certainly do not know.” “Then we are at sea, for neither do I know. I supposed, of course, it must be known to you.” “Tt must have been something of a pri- vate nature, I take it. It vertainly can- not have been anything concerning the bank, or I would have known of it. In fact, I would have been the one to move in the matter.” “Tt must be as you say,” agreed Dick. “That looks reasonable.” “Tt is reasonable.” “ Well, do you know of anything in Mr. Guerdon’s private matters in which he would need a detective?” “Not a thing, sir; it is a mystery to me.” “A man of family?” “He had a wife—I pity her, when she hears of this.” “T must see her, after a while. may be able to enlighten me in .regard to it.” “* Perhaps.” “ And now the other matter. You said you believed that we were coming at the mystery of your cashier's death sooner than we thought.” “ Ah! true; there is something not to be omitted. I must tell you about the de- posit that old man made here yesterday —taking for granted that it was the same one.’ I did not see him myself.” “Mr, Coleman appeared to recognize the description.” “Yes. Well, he came here yesterday, rather excited, Guerdon said—or, if not excited, then very apprehensive. He be- lieved that foes; were after him, to take you came here to meet | from him something of value which he possessed, and that thing he forced the cashier to accept on deposit.” “What was it?” “A silver box, an old, odd-looking af- fair, which he said was invaluable to the owner. He said the ones who desired to wrest it from him were hounding him, and he would not dare to carry it any further. And so he left, it; and now the question is, did the men who were after it discover that he had left it here and enter the bank to secure it?” “Tt would look more as if they had killed the old man, bstaratd he still had it in his possession.’ “ Or had first made him disclose where he had left it.” “You may be right.” if the | She | CHAPTER VII. WAS IT THE KEY? It was a knotty problem. At the end of an hour they were no nearer its solution than when they had begun the discussion. There were two or three great points of mystery upon which they could seem to get no light whatever, and around which all the minor points centred. Deadwood Dick had now heard all that Mr. Murray could tell him regarding Henry Wheaton and his mysterious box, as it had been made known to him by the now dead cashier, and the mystery seemed to centre right there. And then the two mysterious murders that had been committed on the same night, yet so widely apart—that of Henry Wheaton and Cashier Guerdon. Concern- ing the identity of the former, Mr. Mur- ray was yet uncertain, but there was no doubt in the mind of Deadwood Dick: He had the proof of it in the fragment of paper with its mysterious wording— mysterious then, at the time of the dis- covery, but so no longer, in the addition- al light. But the crimes committed so widely apart; was there any connection between the two deeds? That was a question. It was one Deadwood Dick could not yet answer. Finally, the two men rose from their chairs to rejoin the others in the outer room. It seemed useless to discuss the mat- ter further; they would await the re- sult of the inquest, and see if any new points would be brought to light. “One thing more,” said Dick, as they stepped toward the door. “Yes, and one thing more to you,” said Mr. Murray. *T want you to go into this case with a determination to solve it.” “That is the way I always take hold,” said Dick. “ And, I think I may say it . without egotism, I have but few failures scored up against me. Something of the bulldog about me—I hang on.” The other smiled. “Well, hang on here till you clear ‘it up,” he said. “ And now what were you going to say?” “T was going to suggest, now that we are returning to the scene of the crime, that you see if the silver casket is miss- ing.’ The president started. “There!” he exclaimed. once thought of that. wasn’t it?” Dick, in his own mind, had been con- sidering that it was strange indeed. He had been waiting for Mr. Murray to sug- gest it, or make mention of it in some way. “We have been talking of semxethihe: besides, as well,” Dick passed it over. “Yes; that must have kept it out of my mind.” They were now bs the bank proper, and the president turned to the safe in which the silver casket had rested. | Kneeling down, just within the big outer doors, he took hold of the knob of a smaller one in the interior and pulled, and it came ope to his touch, showing that it was not locked. “Ha!” he exclaimed. “What?” asked Dick. “The door—it was not locked.” “ And the sii oe Gone!” : The president rose up, ‘Jooking ques- “TI never Strange, now, tioningly at Dick. $a: bs “What do you think now?” he de- manded. ‘“ Does it not look as ff eee box was the thing — id 2
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a “Tt looks that way, Sebtaddiy that view of it,’ Dick agreed. Whether he really thought so or not, Murray, of course, could not know; but he had no reason to doubt. Just then the teller called the presi- dent’s attention. He had a paper in his hand. “What is it?” the president asked. “Writing in Mr. Guerdon’s hand,’ was the answer. ¥ Deadwood Dick stepped forward to see what it was. It was a sheet of the bank’s notehead paper, and the writing was in big, ner- yous characters. It contained only a few words, :as fol- lows: inking immediately “My Dear Inez:- “T now know all. this—” There it ended abruptly, as if it was a ‘beginning that had not suited the writer and he had crumpled the paper and thrown it away to begin again. A theory was beginning to frame itself in Deadwood Dick’s mind, but as yet it was only vague. It lacked some essen- tial points to make it perfect, and with- out which the whole structure must fall. “Who is Inez?” he inquired, “His wife,” said Mr. Murray. “And what do you make of this?” “T know not what to think of it. I must leave it for you to. work out, if you think it a clue.” “It may be a clue, and it may not; that remains to be seen. It only con- firms me in my intention of seeing Mrs. Guerdon as soon as possible. Where was this, Mr. Coleman?” “In the waste-paper basket at the end of the desk.” . \“ How.came you to find it?” “The thought came to me to look there and see if there might not be a When you receive . serap of something that would help the _ coroner,” “It was a good thought. Did you look further?” — “Yes. But found nothing more.” “Shall I take the writing, Mr. Mur- ray?” Dick asked. “Yes, take it; we look to you to solve the mystery, and want to aid you in every way possible.” ~“ You know it is Guerdon’s writing? ¥ a There can be no mistake about that, Ss r ” “Very well,” and Dick folded the pa- per and put it into his pocket. “I will see what can be made of it.” seit believe you have framed a theory, Bit “You think so?” art AG." “ Well, you may not be wrong.” Mr. Murray stepped up nearer and ' spoke in a low tone, “The wording of this message has given you the clue. You believe there ‘was something between ay su and his wife.” “That looks so plain, on the surface, that a blind man could nardly be ex- ~ cused for not seeing it,” Dick remarked. “And you believe that is what you were wanted for.” “That is the next step in the same di- rection, naturally.” “And now your work is doubly hard, _ for you have not only that to solve, but - you must find out who killed Guerdon.” “Why do you not go on to the next step?” Dick asked. “What is that?” “That maybe it ‘was the mite who did a8 = deed.” Mur ray gave a start. “Oh, no, that cannot be,” $f Why not?” “You do not know the woman. She is an angel, if ever one came to live among us mortals.” ‘Your statement conflicts with wording of this note, if we are to accept the idea you first advanced, that there was trouble between husband and wife.” Murray pulled at his goatee vigorously. “T give it up,” he finally declared. “I know less about it than when the discov- ery was first made.” “And I know considerably more,” said Dick. “ There is one thing further, Mr. Murray and you other gentlemen, before I go,” and Dick addressed them all. “What's that?” asked the sheriff. “Will it not be just as well not to let my identity be known here for the pres- ent?” ““It will be better,’* said Murray. “If the murderer is still around the town the mention of your name will be suffi- cient to scare him off or make him lie so low that you will never find him.” “That is all, then, for the present; I will see you again later on, Mr. Murray.” he declared. CHAPTER VIII. DICK LBARNS ONE THING. When Dick left: the bank he found that the crowd in front had increased. It looked as if the whole population of the young city must be congregated there on the main street, The crowd was eager and impatient to learn everything possible, and Dick had to stop and gratify their curiosity, to a degree, before he could proceed. Finally, having made his way through the crowd, he inquired for the home of Cashier Guerdon, and the house was: pointed out to him. It was a neat cot- tage a little distance up the gulch. As Dick made his way in that direc- tion, he turned the case over in mind. It was in many respects peculiar. He wondered if the news could not yet have reached Mrs. Guerdon. It seemed to him that she would have hastened to the bank at once on hearing of the murder. But, then, he recollected the SyAkinent of letter in Guerdon’s hand and ad- dressed to her, and he believed that she had received the finished message. Possibly, though, the shock of the news had prostrated her, and he would find her unable to receive him, How- ever, no use of speculating; he would soon know. Reaching the house, he touched the bell. A woman opened the door to him, whom he rightly guessed to be a servant. Her face looked distressed and her eyes were red with weeping. Dick knew at once that the news of the murder had reached there. “T desire to see Mrs. Guerdon, ” he an- nounced, : “She is not at home, sir,” was the re- sponse. ~ “I do net know where she can be.” “Not at home?” “NG, Sirs: “You have heard what has happened at the bank?” “Oh, yes, sir,” bursting into tears and catching her apron up to her face, “ It is terrible!” “When did Mrs. Guerdon leave the house? ”- “T do not know, sir,” “This morning? ” “T think it must have been last night, sir. ” , 7 Deadwood Dick, Jt.'s, is Play. { in.’ “Why do you * think “$0?” “ Because her bed has not been slept “ Will you let me come in? I am try- ing to get at the truth of the murder of | Mr. Guerdon. I am employed by Mr. the | Murray for that purpose.” “Come in if you want to, sir; but I have told you all I know. Oh! I am so wretched, to think that one is dead and : the other gone, and they were both so good and kind.” This woman was about forty years of age, in Dick’s judgment. “Are you the only servant they had?” he asked. . “Yes: gir;*’ He had now stepped into the hall and closed the door, and the woman opened the door of a sitting-room on the right, Dick took a swift survey of that apari- ment as he entered it, and decided that the Guerdons had not lived high, if the appearance of that room was any crite- rion. It was well but plainly furnished; then, too, the fact that they had kept but the one servant. “When did you last see ‘Mrs. Guer- don?” Dick asked. “It was about nine o’clock last night.” “Where was she at that time?” “Tn this room.” “What was she doing?” “She was writing.” “Where was Mr. Guerdon?” “He was out at the time, sir.” “Was he usually out in the evening?” “Very seldom, sir. They were nearly always together.” “When did_you see him last alive?” “ At supper, and a little later, when he took his hat. and went out the door.” “The husband and wife did not have a quarrel, did they?” “No, sir, but—” = But what?” “ They were very silent at supper. os “Then they were not usually so?” “No; but I had noticed the same thing all the previous day, and all that day. I believed they had met with some trouble; but, of course, I could not know what it was.” “Then you did not hear it spoken off" *“No, sir.” “Did not Mrs. Guerdon mention it to you when you were alone with. her?” “No, sir, not a word of it. I found her erying several times, though, and I won- dered what it could be.” “And you say she was writing when you saw her last?” “Yes, sir.” “Do you know what she was writing?” “No, sir.” “ Did it appear to be a leiter? ie “Yes, sir; I think it was a letter.” “Do you know for whom it was in- tended?” *“ N—no, sir.” “Do you think it was for Mr, Guer- don?” “I—I could not say, sir,” “ Have you found any such letter? ” ““ Nop sine “And you say that was the last you saw of Mrs. Guerdon?” “Ven ae’ , “You did not see her leave the house?” “No, sir. You see, sir, I was going up to bed when I saw her in here Rishi i “Did you speak to her?” “YT said good-night to her.” “And she responded?” “Yes. She asked me if I had Ainsba and locked up all the rear of the house, and when I told her I had she said she would wait up for Mr. Guerdon.”.
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G Psa a, ~ place. 3 i ray inquired, a ae a * And then this morning? ” “T called them at the usual hour—for {J was always up first—but got no an- swer, and when I tried the doors and found them opcn, and that the beds had not been slept in, I did not know what to make of it.” “Did you tell any one?” “No; I waited, thinking they would come any minute.” “And when did you murder? ” “T saw all asked what was learned about it.” “TIT will not trouble. you more questions, but—’’ “Ask as many as you want to, sir. I will do all in my power to help find out who killed Mr. Guerdon.” “You do not believe that Mrs. Guer- don did i:?” The woman gave a scream. “No, no,” she cried. “ That is not to 16 thought of. She loved him more than sie loved her life.” “Well, after you went to bed, did you hear any one come to the door?” next inquired Dick. : ‘sme: Murray, as they entered, and Dick heard him make inquiry about pay-day on the morrow. “Oh! we are all right for that, I guess,” said the superintendent, carelessly. “T know, but the bank has been looted, and is now closed up. We'll pay in cash, then, I take it?” “No, I'll make a deposit with the other bank, just temporary, and we can draw against that while our bank is closed.” “What's that you are saying?” de- manded Murray, Sr. James explained. “Yes, that will do,” he approved. “We'll attend to that right away, too.” “Tt is mighty lucky that we didn’t make. our deposit yesterday, eh, dad?” the son observed. “Mighty lucky, you are right, Jim,” was the response. “ We would be in the lurch for pay-day, if we had, sure,” Mr. Murray worked the combination of @ private safe, and opened it. “ What is the amount of the pay-roll? ” he asked the clerk. The sum was named. ; The manager counted out a sum that would cover it, with some to spare, and locked the safe. ' “Here,” he said, “take this and de- posit it in the Apache National, and get a supply of their check blanks. Tell them we'll draw on it to-morrow.” “Yes, sir.” ” The clerk took the money and wrapped it in a newspaper and set forth at once upon his errand. “Mighty lucky indeed that we hap- pened to have some on hand here,” the manager observed again. ‘“ We usually deposit everything about the time pay- day comes around.” “And meant to do so to-day,” said the son. “ But, let’s sit down for a talk,” said the father, motioning the others to chairs. “ What are you going to do, Deadwood Dick?” He spoke in low tone as he mentionsd the name. : But he was not likely to be overheard, for they were in a private corner of the — office, the clerks being at work on the other side of a partition. “What I shall do will depend alto- — gether upon circumstances,” said Dick. “We must see what developments grow — out of the matter, and set our sails ac- — cording to the way the wind blows.” “Well, one thing bear in mind,” said. “we must have this mystery ‘cleared up, no matter at what cost . If you were not here, you are Murray, sacrifice. the very man we would certainly send — | for, for your reputation is known where your face has never hoes seen.” Me the fact that the old man left 2 ine 5
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‘ee ns 5 0 Se i #t a digested these remarks well. - that they might mean something, and 8 a fellow.” CHAPTER X. HORACE JEFFRIES FOUND, ‘Their conference was quite lengthy. Father and son were in earnest in their desire te have the mystery solved. Daniel Murray wanted to offer a liberal reward, but Dick advised him to hold that back for a little time... He thought maybe a still hunt would accomplish more. When Dick left the office he sought the hotel. His mind was full of the case, or cases, that had been so suddenly thrust upon him, He asked himself whether it was not in part, at least, something that Cashier Guergon had prearranged for him, a sur- prise for him when he came. This was the day fixed for his meeting with Guerdon; perhaps that gentleman intended to be found dead at this time, and leave it for Deadwood Dick to clear up the mystery. , There was one thing in the way of that, however. To accept that theory, was to accept the theory of suicide, and no weapon had been found to support that. And still Dick had some idea that it had been suicide nevertheless. The wording of the note the cashier had started to write to his wife, as discoy- ered by the scrap in the basket. Yet, if suicide, where was the weap- on? ? As said once before, a theory was framing in his mind, and gradually he “was getting the support it needed. Turning. the different points over in mind, Dick headed for the leading hotel yor the young city, feeling the need of for ifying the inner man, as it was high noon. _“ Any chance to feed here?” he asked of the man at the desk. “You will never get a better, if that is what you are after,’’ was the cheery response. - “ Well, that is just what I want,” said Dick. “And while I am about it I will engage a room for a few days, too. Want my penuscript? ” “ Yes, chalk} down your cognomen, please.” He shoved out the register. Dick dipped the pen, and poised it while he ran his eye over the list of re- cent arrivals, The last name on the page caused him a start. It was—Horace Jeffries, Helena, Mont. “You know him?” asked the clerk, “No,” said Dick. ook thought you did, looked at the name.” “It is ome that I have heard before. the way you In fact, it is a man I have business with, though I don’t know him.” “Serious business, may be.” “Oh, no, nothing of that kind; just business of the ordinary sort. How long has he been here?” “ Came this morning.” Di ck was thoughtful. -* Any baggage?” he asked. “ Only a big handbag, that he seemed _ to take particular good care of.” Dick pulled at his mustache while he He felt ere worthy of more than passing no- tice. eee “What sort of chap is he? ” he asked. oung, not over thirty; smooth face ent ordinary c‘othes. No great shakes ' “Say anything about his business?” _ Dick jotted down his name while thus | talking, and shoved the register around to the clerk. “ Not a word,” said the clerk. “Well, will you point him out to me when chance offers?” “Sure. I'll give you the wink when he comes fm. But, you are sure to meet him at the table.” “ Just describe him, then.” This was done in a moment. “Thank you,” said Dick, storing away the additional points mentioned. “I. guess I will be able to pick out Mr. Jeffries all right.” “Now, {[ wonder what he is doing here?” he asked himself, as he turned away from the desk. “He is the chap the old man mentioned when he was dying. I wonder if he was the mur- derer?” His thoughts reverted to that handbag. It was possible, and yet he would not admit it to himself, for good reasons. In the first place, why would the man come there under his true name, if ‘he had done a crime, or had come there with the intention of committing one? And yet, the handbag—was it possible that it now contained the silver casket, to say nothing about the bank’s funds? It was possible, but that it was probable Dick would not.admit to himself. Presently the gong sounded. Dick was ready to respond, and was among the first to troop to the dining- room. As he and those with whom he was in company entered by one door, two or three men entered by another, and one of these Dick recognized. It was Horace Jeffries; he knew him by the description. Without seeming effort Dick managed to get a seat alongside of him, and in due time opened up a conversation. “You are a stranger here, like my- self, I take it,’”’ he observed. Jeffries gave him a searching look. “Well, yes,” he responded. “T thought so, when I heard you in- quiring for the post-office. You are the man registered from Montana?” “That is where I am from, sir.” “Pardon me, if I annoy you, for I don’t want to intrude if you don’t want to talk; but I have a reason for making your acquaintance,” the latter in lower tone, The man started. . Dick noticed it, and that he gave him another searching survey, ‘although Dick’s eyes were apparently turned to his plate. “A reason for scraping acquaintance with me?” the man repeated in cub- stance. “Yes; but don’t let it out here.” “You do not know me, do you?” a * know that your name is Horace Jeffries.”’ “And what do you know about Hor- ace Jeffries, then?” “This is hardly the place for a con- fidential chat,” said Dick. “Well, after dinner, then. It seems there has been a crime committed here recently.” The murder was the one subject among the others at the table. Dick noticed, too, that eyes were turned frequently upon himself and his new acquaintance, and that the looks were at least inquiring. * Yes, a dastardly crime,’ Dick re- sponded. “It is one in which I am peculiarly interested, too. I came here to see the man who fell the victim to an assassin’s bullet last night.” “And gee is no suspicion who ‘did it?” Deadwood Dick, Jr.’s, Big Play. 9 “Not yet.” “JT hear said that the motive was rob- bery.” “ Well, a robbery was committed» but whether that was the real object, or only done to cover up the murder, I am not prepared to say.” “Then the cashier had foes?” “I do not know that to be so, yet, but it is possible.” “Have you, then, a theory of your own? Did you know the man—bit I suppose you did.” “No, I did not know him, but there was a strange piece of business trans- acted there at the bank yesterday that may have figured largely in the matter.” “What was that?” “Why, an old man named Henry Wheaton—” “Henry Wheaton!” “You know him, then?” “The very man I am in quest of, sir.” “Then I have a sad piece of news for you, my friend.” “You do not mean to say—” f “That Henry Wheaton is dead, yes. He was murdered last night— “ Murdered!” dropping his knife and fork and starting up from the table. “Henry Wheaton murdered! My God, it cannot be true!” ans pamee 4 CHAPTER XI. HISTORY OF HENRY WHEATON. All ‘eyes were upon the young man, He was greatly excited, almost over- come, it appeared. Was he acting a part? That thought came into Deadwood Dick’s mind as he watched him. Dick had just let him know that he knew him, or rather, that he was a man he wanted to see. Was this for his benefit? “Then he was a friend of yours?” Dick asked. “He was my mother’s uncle, sir. Where was he murdered? Have they got the murderer?” “He was murdered between Hustle- ville and Grub Stake, two camps to the north of here, some time during the night. His body is now at Hustleville.” “Not now et ain’t,” spoke up a man at the table. “ No? ” f : “Ther sheriff has sent men over to fetch et in hyer, at the coroner’s re-~ quest.” “Ha! is that so? his object in that?” “Well, he couldn’t leave here himself, to-day, ye see, and then he wanted it identified positive. + “T see.” “ But, the murderer?” aassticoms Jeff- ries. “He has not been caught,” said Dick. “There is another mystery.” ‘The young man ‘had resumed his seat, but not yet his knife and fork. He seemed quite overcome. “Then he shall be hunted down, I Swear it,” he said in low, positive tone. “The wretch that murdered him shal} be brought to justice, if I can find him — on the face of the earth.” Deadwood Dick was impressed with — his sincerity, The young man hardly ate anything after that. He minced with his food un- til Dick was ready to rise from the table. 2 - _ They left the room together. . “Will you come up to my room?” Jeffries asked. “No, let us sri0ke a cigar on the piazza,” said Dick. “ The Eee &: ye be commenced at one. e, I wonder what was .
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ey 10 — ane _Deadwood Dick, J vi 's Big Play. ee i “ But, we must talk.” ‘We can. do so there.” They passed out from the hall and took chairs near the end of the piazza, Dick putting his feet up on the railing and lighting a cigar. Jeffries had declined one. “Now, then, what did you want with me?” Jeffries asked. “Your name was about the last word Henry Wheaton spoke before he died, and—”’ “You said he was murdered? ”’ “T was the one to discover him, and he was not dead, though he died a very short time afterward.’ “And what did he say about me?” “Before I go into that, I must have - proof that yow are Horace Jeffries.” Can’t you take my word’ “ Great Scott! for 163’ “That is not the point; can you, prove {| that you are he?” ““Of course I can prove it,” with some indignation. “Maybe not right at once, but I can prove it.” “What was your business with Henry Wheaton?” - “What is that to you?” “See here, it will not do for you and me to fall out and work at cross-pur- poses,” said Dick. “Why not?” “Because I need your help, and you need mine. I believe you are just who and what you claim to be, even though I have no positive proof to that effect. I am ready to help you hunt down the murderer. if “Do you mean that?” nest aoe 8 St “Then give me your hand.” The young man held out his own, and Dick gave his. “What is your name?” Jeffries asked, while their hands met and clasped firmly. “T am known as Deadwood Dick, Jr.” The face of the young man instantly blanched, and his grip relaxed involun- tarily. Deadwood Dick’s keen, magnetic eyes were upon him, as if reading him through and through, and he seemed to quail under their gaze. “Then you have heard of me before?” said Dick. | “Who has not heard, or read, of the far-famed Deadwood Dick?” was the re- joinder. “ And perhaps not much good of me,’ said Dick. He was glad to feel the clasp tighten upon his hand again before their hands parted. “But much of the good you have done for others, sometimes not only without reward, but with actual loss to yourself. Do you mean that you will aid me in what I am about to undertake? - “Hunting down the slayer of Henry Wheaton?” : of) Yes.” “Of course I meant it. But it will be you helping me, for I have already taken upon myself the task.” “Then if there is anything I can do to help, you have only to command me, Under such a leader, I am perfectly will- ing to take the second place, What is to be done?” “T must know everything you can tell me of Henry Wheaton.” “You shall.” “And of his enemies, for 1 ‘take for “granted that enemies he had. In fact, RK said so himself.” “ Ag to that, I cannot say, but his story _ is simple and soon told, although it has _ gomething of sig sia interest in it.” © “You may have time before the in- quest begins.” “Tt is short. “Henry Wheaton, while not a crazy man, aS Many of his business transac- tions amply prove, was eccentric. He was a millionaire at one time, but whether worth anything to-day—or at his death—is hard to say. “Those who profess to know say that he has been gradually letting go his pos- sessions, and when last seen by my mother he was little better than a tramp. What he was doing with his wealth no one knew. There were some who tried to make it their business to find out, however, “Of those, I was one when I came here, for my mother has an_ interest there, as well as some others I can name. She sent me, not alone with a selfish mo- tive, but she has recently come into an- other estate, and intended giving the old man a home. Others would look askance at this statement, of course, but I know my mother, and know that her heart was in it.” “A question,” Dick interrupted. ‘‘ How did you know that Henry Wheaton was at this place at this time?” “T did not know it. We heard from him last in this Territory, and I have been going from place to place in quest of him.” “Proceed,” “Years ago Henry Wheaton met a great loss in the death of his wife, who was murdered. My mother recently told me about this. For a time it was feared that his reason would give way, and, in fact, he was never like his former self again, Who the murderer’ was, was never ascertained, but it was believed to have been’a young man named Northton, who was at the time in his employ, and who was never seen again. Northton’s people scouted the idea, however, and held to the assertion that he, too, had met with foul play on the same occasion, and his body made away with. “The motive for -that crime was rob- bery, as was shown by the open private safe, the absence of a large sum of money it had contained, and a quaint old silver box, for some reason very highly prized, was tightly clasped in the arms of the murdered woman, as if she had snatched it out of the hands of her slayer the mo- meni before his knife did its fatal work. That box had been with the money in the safe—in fact, in an inner part of the safe where a burglar would not have been likely to see it, and that fact made it seem all the plainer that the deed had been done by one familiar with the safe and -its contents. Indeed, the old man held that it had been solely to get pos- session of the silver box that the bur- glary had been attempted, and that the murder was only incidental. “As I have said, he was never quite himself again. He had no family, and he soon sold his home and wandered away. He was here, there, and all over, and it was understood that his fixed pur- pose in life was to hunt down the slayer of his wife.” é CHAPTER XIL. DICK EXPRESSES HIS THEORY. About the time Jeffries reached that point in his narrative, Daniel Murray and his son came along. Deadwood Dick had just time to say to Jeffries that he should keep to himself what had passed between them, when Murray stopped and spoke. __, “Come, you are going to aa inquest, of course,” he said. sya SE 2 time?” asked Dick, consulting his watch. “ High promptly.” “Then we'll walk along with you. Murray, this is Mr. Horace Jeffries.” Murray gave the young man a search- ing look as he responded, and while he was being introduced to the son as well, which Dick noticed. They walked away in company in the direction of the coroner’s office, where they found a crowd gathered. The room was seemingly filled to its full capacity. Way was made for them somehow, nevertheless, and they were given chairs well up in front. Murray and his son sat facing Dick and his new acquaintance, with the coffin of time, if "Hammond begins Mr. “the murdered cashier between them. The body had been prepared and put in its coffin, but in the absence of Mrs. Guerdon it had been retained at the undertaker’s shop. Its presence there served to add to the solemnity of the occasion, and there was something of an awed hush over the assembly. It was almost a new experi- ence for Gold Ledge. Mr. Hammond was a man of some edu- cation and considerable experience, and he went about the matter in a business- like way. It took him but a litthe while to get a jury. The first witness, then, was the Guer- dons’ servant, who answered to the name of Jane Wagner. Her testimony was about in line with the statements she had already made to Deadwood Dick, so it is needless to re- peat it here. She was pained, sorrow- ful, mystified. The next, who should, perhaps, have been the first—was George Coleman, the discoverer of the crime. His testimony, too, we have seen. He was closely ques- tioned, but did not vary in any of his statements, though some were elabor ated more in particular. Then Daniel Murray took. the stand. “Have you any theory as crime? ” the coroner inquired. “Yes, I nave, but whether it is right or not is a question, sir,’’ he answered. “What is that theory?” “A man named Henry Wheaton called at the bank yesterday and wanted\to leave a silver casket there for safe keeping. He said he was afraid to carry it further, for he was watched and knew that it would be taken from him. He has since been found murdered, and now tha: the casket is missing from the bank I am in- clined to the belief that the enemies 92f that old man took it,” Horace Jeffries had given a start, at mention of the silver casket, and was somewhat pale. “How could they know where the casket of silver—or the silver casket— was?” inquired the coroner. *, “Why, a paper written by the deposit- or was in his possession, or the one-half of it, to be exact, and that would s've some idea as to what had been (> with the box. been forced from the old man’s unwilling lips; if more was needed.” “Then you are inclined to the be- lief—” “As I said, that thege enemies who were following the old man, and who eventually killed him, came here later and robbed the safe.” “But, sir, they robbed the tank Se well—” to this The rest of it must hay i “ Fools if they would not, being thieves | anyhow and having the safes open ss sc
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that, Mr. Bristol. to find him st Rs their object was to get possession of the silver box.” “Then how came the cashier there at that time?” “You now ask me more than I can answer. He was not at home; he might have been discovered in the bank. They may have found him elsewhere and forced him to open the bank to them. These are questions that no one can answer at this time, save the rascals themselves.” “Do you know what the bank’s loss is?” “No, sir, but of course the books will show that.” “ &A step further, Mr. Murray; have you any idea what has become of Mrs. Guer- don?” “Not the slightest, sir. “You do not believe that she shot her husband? ” “ Decidedly not, sir.” That phase of the matter was gone into at length, but nothing was brought out that is not already known to the reader. Deadwood Dick was then called by his proper name. Some preliminary questions asked and answered, inquiry was made as to the business that had brought him to Gold. Ledge City. “You say you had an appointment with Cashier Guerdon,” said the coroner, “Will you please tell us what the nature of that appointment was—that is, the business it concerned?” “TI do not know,” said Dick. “You do not know?” “e No, sir.”’ - s “hat is rather strange, keeping an appointment without knowing what for.” “ At that meeting, sir, he was to have told me the business he desired me to transact for him, The immediate object of the meeting was that, sir.” “Then you are a professional man? ”~ ‘Yea, sir,” oe What profession ? ” “Must I answer that in public?” Dick was a little surprised at the change of programme, for it had been understood that his identity was to be kept secret for a time. He Jooked at Mr. Murray, to find that gentleman tugging at his goatee and looking steadfastly at the floor.. He seemed annoyed. by the course the coro- ner’s questions were taking. “ Of course you must answer,” said the coroner. ‘ We desire the fullest possible light upon this case.” “ Well, I am a detective,” said Dick. There was a stir immediately. Some-. thing about that word has a charm for ae crowd of'average Americans. “And you have no idea what was “wanted of you?” |. “Not the slightest. bie “Ts not that strange?” “JT do not think so; I expected to be informed when I met Mr. Guerdon. likely that he would put it on paper, if it was of great importance.” “ Well, we have to take your view of Now, what is your theory of this matter? Being a detective, ‘as you claim to be, you must have formed _ gome theory respecting it.” - Dick did not like the man’s manner at all. He looked again toward Mr.. Murray, it looking, hard at the floor. “ My theory,” he answered, “is assum- ing the shape that leads me to believe that Mr. Guerdon committed suicide, in of the fact that there was no m found.” fore them. But that was only incidental; Not. Deadwood Dick, Jr.’ s, Big Play. Mr. hdedaey* ioeiea up aaleily.- “How do you make—” He was about to put a question, but checked himself, recollecting that he had no right to do so there. “What were you going to ask?” in- quired the coroner. “I forgot myself for the moment,” said the president, “but I was going to in- quire why Mr. Guerdon would make an appointment with a man and then take his own life before the appointment was kept? That was not Guerdon’s way.” “JT think I can answer the question to your satisfaction, sir,’ said Dick. ‘* My belief is that he discovered for himself something that he wanted me to under- take to discover for him, and, as it was something that concerned his happiness closely, he took his life.” “Mr. Hammond, kin-I put in a word right hyer?” inquired a voice in the crowd, aS a man pushed his way to the front. “Yes, if it is calculated to throw any light upon this matter,’ permission was granted. CHAPTER XIII. EVENTS TAKE AN UNEXPECTED TURN. All eyes were turned in that direction. Deadwood Dick noted that it was one of the men who had been eyeing him closely while he was at the table. Dick felt that mischief was brewing, but he could not yet scent what it was. He felt a change in the air, as it were, that had commenced to be manifest the moment he took the stand. _ * Bt is only my idee,” said the man, when he reached the small open space, “but it may be worth somethin’ all the same.” Jury and audience hung ‘upon his words. “Speak out, Jacob Bliss,”. said the coroner. “And if there is any one else present who knows anything about the affair, or has anything to offer that may give us light, let. him come forward.” “Et ain’t nothin’ I know,” said the fellow, shifting his weight uneasily, “ but mebby it will be worth mentionin’. [ remember a case that happened in Cali- forny a good many years ago, where a chap was murdered and his murderer was the one to hold the inquest—”’ Mr. Hammond gave a Violent start, and the murmur in the crowd caused the speaker to stop short. “ Not that Iam goin’ to say the same thing is the case hyer, Mr. Hammond,” he hastened to assure, sure that et ain’t some of these hyer ‘Strangers what have dropped in jist at this time.” ~ He waved his hand in the direction of Dick and Jeffries, but did not look at them. Dick: had his keen‘ eyes upon the fel- low, and began to see the drift of mat- ters, Jeffries gave a start’and paled.. All eyes were turned upon them, now, and the Murrays sat bolt upright and stared at them, — “You do not mean these two gentle- men, do you?” asked the coroner. “ Wull, to be blunt about et,” said the man, doggedly, “them’s jist who I do mean, nobody else.” Deadwood Dick smiled grimly. “This is a serious charge to make, Mr. Bliss,” said the coroner. “I suppose that you have something with which to back up your statement? ” “Wull, I ain’t got no proofs, ef you mean that, but when ye add two and two together and git four, ye gen'ly a: “but I am not so | this time,” interrupted the man. ee pe breins erste dine ian tae ll late that the sum is right, That is what I have done.” “You are rather an interesting wit- ness, my man,” said Deadwood Dick. speaking up. “Suppose you show your hand, now, and let us see just what you hold,” “Et ain’t because I have got any- thing in ther world ag'in ye,” said the fellow, “fer I ain’t; but when I see a thing the same as I see this hyer I am bound to speak out.” “ That is right.” “Tf you aire innercent, et won’t do ye no harm, and you will pardon me fer a mistake when my meanin’ was all right. Ef ye aire guilty— Wull, William Guer- don was a friend of mine, that’s all.” “Your intention seems to be fair,” said Dick. * Now, let us hear upon what grounds you make this foolish charge.” Still the man did not meet his eyes. “Wull, you see, coroner,” he said, “I was at dinner with ’em, and I noticed that they done a good deal of whisperin’ together, and fer strangers, which they ‘peared to be when they spoke right out, they. had a mighty good understandin™ between ’em.’ ” There was no doubt of the impression this made on the crowd. There was a good deal of nodding and nudging among them, and all eyes were: centred upon the two accused men, ' Jeffries looked alarmed, and sat speech- less, looking helplessly to Deadwood Dick for his defense. all in his grim manner. Daniel Murray had a look of surprise, and he and his son exchanged glances. The father had his hands on the arms of the chair in which he sat, as if ready to rise up to say something. “We were. strangers, nevertheless,” said Dick. “Is that all, my good man?” - No, that ain’t quite all. -Mind, I don’t ’cuse ye; that ain’t in my line; but. I think we’d orter know more about ye ‘n what we do at present.” “Perhaps you will, later,” said Dick, sotto voice. “Go on with what you said the coroner. don’t ye? would say,” Dick met the gaze of- ~“ “Wull, add to them Tacts that they — aire both interested in this case, and that both kem hyer to-day, and see what ther sum is. Ain’t et just and right that we should know all about. ‘em? ” Mr. Murray here rose up. “T don’t see anything wrong in what Bliss. has proposed,” he said, “but I want to assure him that he has made mistake. It was not our intentiom# to le it out right away, but this gentleman, men of Gold Ledge City, is no other than the renowned Deadwood Dick.” There was a_ sensation then, gure enough. “Ts thar anybody ‘hyer that knows him?” the man demanded. As it happened, this town was one rather out of Dick’s regular beat, so to say, and he had never been there before. No one responded. “Do you know he is Deadwood Dick, Mr. Murray?” “Not that I could prove it,’ said the | mine manager, “‘ but he says he is, and I see no reason—”’ — “His say-so hadn’t orter go hyer at “What we want is the genuine proof. Ef he can’t show up that, to the jug bajar ya! is what I say!” There was a faint cheer. % i sl “T am not always prepared to prd’e up on short notice,” said Dick, “ but I can bring you all the proof you can ask for '
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a in. It is the same > with this gagiiowian: I asked him to prove that he was Horace Jeffries, and he asked for time.” “What did I tell ye?” cried the ac- cuser, growing bolder. ‘‘ Do ye see how he tries to worm out of et? Do ye see what a nice game they are tryin’ to work hyer together? D’ye see how quick one is to speak up for t’other? Does et stand to reason that they have jist met fur the first time to-day? Not sayin’ they lie, but I do say let ’em prove up, by mighty!” Voices in the crowd supported the -suggesiion, The Murrays looked from one to the other, as if they hardly knew what action to take. “T can’t take any stock in such an idea,” spoke up the superintendent. “This man came here as Deadwood Dick, . and we must treat him as such until we learn to the contrary; don’t you say so, father? ”’ “T certainly do,’’ agreed Daniel. * Bt ain’t nothin’ to me—or it wouldn't be, ef William Guerdon hadn’t been a good friend of mine,” urged the accuser, -““ but as he was that I mean to urge that these hyer two strangers show up proofs be- fore we let em go.” The crowd supported it more strongly than ever. “Tf they aire innocent, no harm done, and ef they don’t happen to be jist what they claim, thar we have got ’em.” “That’s so! That’s so!” “ Then you would propose our arrest?” demanded Dick. “No, not jist that, but I would p’pose havin’ ye searched and made to show up fer all ye are worth.” Dick’s eyes began to gleam with a dangerous light, but for the time being he managed to hold back his rising indig- naiion. He saw, as it were, the fine Italian hand of a master behind this rough fellow. . “ Well, Lam ready to submit to that,” scid Dick, ‘“ and I suppose this gentleman will have no objections.” “ None whatever, so long as they give ‘back what belongs to me,” said Jeffries. “ Proof that ef I am right they have tooken good care not to have anything about ‘em that would tell against ’em, coroner,” said the fellow Bliss. “ But, let ‘em show, all the same, and if I am wrong they may be able to prove that. Et is as fair fur them as it is fur us, anyhow. ’ “See here, my fine chap, who put you up to this, anyhow?” demanded Dick, indignantly. ‘““Who put me up to. et?” av Yes. ” “ Do you hear that, coroner? I leave et to you ef it sounds much as if I had hit the wrong mark with my shot? Does that sound like what ye might expect. from Deadwood Dick, Junior?” CHAPTER XIV. HELD BY THE JURY. The inquest had taken an unexpected turn. The crowd was beginning to grow ex- cite’, and Dick saw trouble ahead. PO) in ents had been turned in such a way that he and his companion were sud- denly seen in a false light. He recognized that a genius of no mean ce’iber was behind the scenes, for he “knew well enough that this man Bliss _* ‘was not acting on his own responsibility, a jaye ‘The coroner looked serious. .“ This thing has assumed such shape,” he said, “ that I am bound to take notice Ce 1m eee armen meme = sever Deadwood Dick, J r. 'S, Big Play. — made, even though I do nie believe in it myself. Gentleman, it is my unpleas- ant duty to ask you to submit to being searched .for evidence.” “Tt is preposterous!” cried Jeffries. “It is our misfortune,” said Dick, quietly. ‘‘ Let them proceed with their show.” “You are unfortunate in that you are strangers, merely,’ said the coroner, “This can do you no harm, and will satisfy your accuser.” “ Well, go ahead,” Dick invited. “It will be my turn later on, when I will make somebody dance to my tune, or I am a cow, that’s all! Come on and do your searching, Mr. Bliss.” “ Bt ain’t fer me to do that, the fellow. “TY will eall upon Sheriff Crossen and Deputy Hurley,” said the coroner. ‘ Be- lieving that you are innocent, I hope yeu will pardon the inconvenience we fre putting you to, gentlemen.” “Go ahead with the farce,” said Dick. “It is no farce, sir, so far as I am con- cerned, please understand,” said the ecro- ner. “T am willing to believe that,” said Dick, in response. “I ‘hope to live icng enough to show you something that has been, though.” The sheriff and his man came forward, and Dick and his companion held up their hands. It looked like the old stage coach days. As it happened, Dick had absolutely nothing with which to prove who he was, and it was almost the same with Jeffries. They had weapons, both of them— Dick’s fine brace of guns, but he hap- pened to be without handcuffs, : having left his last pair on the wrists of a desperado he had taken only a short time before. “That is about all, I guess,” said the sheriff, at last. ‘“‘ No, here is uwnother pocket—nothing but a bit -of paper, though.” “A bit of paper is a good deal, some- times,” said Hurley. . “ Let’s see et?” called out Bliss. It was handed over to the coroner, who looked at it, and as he did so his brows seemed to knit with interest. “This begins to assume a_ serious aspect,” he said, “ after what you vestified to respecting the box Henry Wheaton left at the bank, Mr, Murray,” and he handed the bit of paper to him. Murray glanced at it and leaped to his feet. “The mischief!’ he cried, “Tt is the paper that Henry Wheaton wrote at the bank, ‘half of which he left with Guer- don!” A loud murmur in the crowd. “T have every reason to believe that you are right; in fact, I know you. are right, sir,” said Dick, calmly. “ Henry Wheaton gave me that bit of paper jnst before he died.” “ Kin ye prove that?” Bliss. “You have my word for it,” said Dick. “There was no witness present; I was alone with him,’ “The same as we have yer word fur et that you are Deadwood Dick, which I more and more begin to doubt. Besi-les, what a dead man said don’t go in !aw, mebby you know.” “ Are you a lawyer?” “Wull, I have got a smattering of et.” ” muttered demanded Jake “ And a little knowledge is a dangerous, ‘| thing,” said Dick. — “You say the man gave you this piece ¥. of paper?” asked the SoROROEN: impres- ; of ae half-way mecras that pay. been ! ech #28 “Yes, sir.’ “You ia nothing about it before.” “ Because it was not necessary. I had no right to claim the box it calls for, and I was not sure yet that I had found the man who had the right. And, in face of the fact that the box is gone, it was of no use anyhow.” “You are Deadwood Dick, then, as you claimed.’ . “ Certainly. i Fer which we must have the proof, now,” cried Bliss. ‘“‘Guerdon was my friend, as I have said, and I ain’t goin’ to accept nothin’ on say-so. Gentlemen of the jury, I charge these hyer two with the killin’ of William Guerdon. ‘That will hold ’em till they kin prove up, [I opine. Not that I have got the least bit. of grudge, but I don’t want to take no chances on their gettin’ away if they ain’t what they claim.” “That is fair spoken enough,” cried a voice in the crowd. “How will it do to allow the coroner to run this business,” suggested Dick, at that juncture. “It seems to me that you > are taking the case out of his hands, if not, indeed, out of the hands of the jury.” Thus reminded, the coroner. flushed. “A good deal of this is out of erder,”’ he declared, tapping the table near at hand for silence in the room. “I will now pass the case over to the jury for their decision.” The sheriff had given Dick’s weapons and other ¢éffects back into his keep- ing, the deputy the same with respect to Jeffries’, and they stepped back to their places, while the coroner proceeded with his charge. The charge as at length. It was a fair one, dealing with nothing but facts as they had been brought out. At length it was over, and the jury retired to deliberate; and barely had they gone from the room when there was a commotion at the door. “Way was made, and a body was borne into the room, It was that of Henry Wheaton. The men who had gone over to Hustle- ville for it had performed their errand quickly. It was laid out upon the table, just be- hind the coffin in which the body of the ” dead cashier reposed, and thus the two | ge men who had met the day before in life were brought together again in death. — The crowd appeared to feel the sol- — emnity of it. ; r. “If these hyer two could only speak,” — said Jake Bliss to those near him, loudly — enough for all to hear, “they would tell the story so that nobody could doubt et.” — “And since they can’t speak, it will be my duty. to bring the truth to light in their behalf,” said Deadwood Dick. “TI only hope you are what ye claim, and kin do et,” was the rejoinder. ; Dick and Jeffries talked together, while the jury were out, and they were not un- mindful of the fact that they weve fre- quently the focus of many eyes. Daniel Murray and his son, too, talked | together, and presently they joined Dick, “We have been talking about your — case, Bristol,” said Murray the father, — “and we want to help you if we can.” “In what way do you mean?” ; “You see, we know people here and you do not, and knowing the men cn that jury, we are of the mind that they may make trouble for you. do, how is the quickest way for us te prove up for you?’ S Ei “Then you don’t doubt me?” of! “Not a bit. All you have got to ie is tell us how to prove that. Be ee deact Deadwood Dick.” ; Wee In case they
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13 “That will be easy enough, if you waht to take the trouble. I will give you a list of ten—iwenty—fifty names if you say -s0, and you can bring-any of the men here to identify me.” “Very well; and you, young man’” “JT am a good way from home,” said Jeffries. ; “Never mind about him,’ said Dick. “T will answer for him, once my identity is proved to the satisfaction of all con- cerned.” Just then the jury returned, and the foreman being called on for the verdict, he rendered the report that in che opin- ion of the jury the deceased had come to his death at the hands of some person to the jury unknown; but they recommended the holding of two men on suspicion, namely, the two charged by Jacob Bliss as the possible assassins. CHAPTER XV. DICK AND PARD IN LIMBO. Deadwood Dick was about to spring to his feet. He had something to say, and wanted to seize the opportunity for saying it. Greatly to his surprise, however, hands seized him from behind and forced him down again to his chair, and he saw that Jeffries was receiving the same usage. “Pretty well cut and dried, gentle- men,” he grated, speaking with all the calmness he could force. “We don’t mean to allow you chance to use a gun,” was the reply. “Do you think I would be fool eucugh to shoot anybody?” “ Nobody but yourself, maybe.” Dick smiled. Jeffries: was red in the face, and hud struggled some at the first contact, but found it was useless. “Sheriff, you have heard the verdict,” said the coroner. “ You will hold these men prisoners until they have a chance to prove who they are to the satisfaction of all concerned.” “May I be permitted to say some- the ; thing?” asked Deadwood Dick. “Yes, you may speak.” . “T started to do so a moment ago, but found that I was counting without my host. I want to:say that this is not only a mistake, but an outrage. see about as far through a plank as the I am able to next one, and I am beginning tc get my eyes open here. It is a deeper case than I had any idea of in the beginning. . I expect to be on hand when the final said Dick. answer to every riddle, and I mean to sheriff, population of the young city, it seemed, call. is made, I want to tell you, and I think you will have reason then to open _ your eyes. “You talk in riddles,” said Mr. Murray. “ Bverything is a riddle, just now, sir,’ “There is, however, an find the answer to this one. I will solve this enigma, or go out of business.” “T hate to have to do this,” said the He stepped kefore Dick With a leveled gun. a “Tt is all right,” said Dick. “I am not ‘going to offer any resistanee, so you will ~ have no trouble. Disarm me, and I will - go with you. when you are down.” There is no use kicking “AN right, let me have your guns, J then, and I’ll escort you to the lock-up.” They were disarmed and taken to the il. The crowd followed them, the whole ut it was not demonstrative. event jr with them—he stuck “but you know what my duty: Ba Hurley, look after the other one.” closed upon them he took. paper and pencil from his pocket, saying: “ Now, those names, Deadwood Dick, and I'll have friends here for you just as speedily as wire or messengers can bring them. This is an outrage, but it is one that cannot be helped.” “T have changed my mind, Mr. Mur- ray,” said Dick. “Changed your mind?” “Yes.” “What do you mean?” “T am used to fighting out alone, when { get into a difficulty, and I am not going to squeal this time.” “ But, confound it, it is not squealing to call on a friend or two to come and identify you, is it? Don’t be foolish, now, but give me the names and let me get them.” “T don’t want to trouble my friends,” said Dick. ‘‘ You believe that I am just what I claim to be?” “Yes, certainly.” “Then you can help me more than all my friends, and at the same time put me in the way of solving these mysteries and clearing up the whole matter.” * How is it to be done?” “Give me the means of escaping to- night, and leave the rest to me.” ““Tt would never d-,’’ said Murray, firm- ly. ‘I happen to be mayor of the town, and if it were found out— No, no, it can’t be done.” “Then it is plain that you have not the confidence in me that you profess,” “It is true that I have nothing but your word.” “Then we may as well call a halt, and let events take their own course, mayor.” “No, I want to be of service to you. I want to see you out of here, and I want to be the means of getting you out, in the right kind of way. Don’t be stubborn, now.” “ No stubbornness about it, sir; I have simply made up my mind to ‘see it through.” “Well, [ll have to.do the best I can to get hold-of some of your friends with- out your help, then. Make yourself as comfortable here as you can. Pu see that you don’t want for anything.” So the mayor left them. “What do you think?” asked Dick of his companion, “I think we are in a deuce of a fix, for one thing,” said Jeffries. “We'll get out of it all right. to let them go their length. light ahead.” I want I see day- “You do not suspect who killed Henry Wheaton, do you?” “Not yet, but I suspect who knows a good deal about it all.” “The man who got us into this fix?” “Yes; and not meaning the same man you mean, either.” willing to bet ducats on ii. “Who? ” “ Murray, he is the man.” “What! You do not mean it. I thought perhaps—” “You thought I meant Bliss, the man who worked it against us, but he was only a tool.” “But, what proof have you?” “Not a serap, but that finer sixth sense that usually tells me when I am on the right track. He is the man, and I am You will see.” “But you said you believed that Guer- don committed suicide.” “T said I would believe that, had the weapon been found there. One reason, the shot was fired at such short range!” “And you believe that I am just what I claim to be?” “You have proven. that to my satisfac- tion, now.” ‘s ‘Sow? FF “By the story you told.” They entered into a long conversacion, and by the time it was ended they were both of one mind. «Meantime, the inquest over the body of Henry Wheaton had been held, and at iis close Mayor Murray came again to the jail, accompanying the man who took” the prisoners’ suppers. “Here is the best. supper for you that the town can get up,” he said, as che man put it on the table for them. “Glad to get it,’ said Dick. “Tf there is anything else you want, you have only to ask for it.” “ Only a hog would ask for more,” Dick, with a laugh. ‘“ What done about the other inquest? ” “That is partly what I came to tell you about. You see they had another jury entirely, this time, but the mischief that fellow Bliss started has been spread- ing—” “And we are held on the charge, eh? I am not surprised.” “Well, that is it, in few words.” “ There is one consolation, they will find it difficult to prove it, and by the time my case comes to trial I guess I will have something to say.” : “And I will have something to cay before thet,” said the mayor. “I am going to communicate with the governor, who I-know must know you, and he will send somebody to conyince the people here who you are.” “T had rather you would not. trouble him,” said Dick. “You have nothing to say, this hand, my good fellow.” So he left them. “T can’t believe that your eaanleiga is correct,” said Jeffries, when he had gone. “And I am more convinced of it than ever,” said Dick. “He has no inten- tion’ of sending for the governor, but there is a deeper game afoot that we must look out for.” Deadwood Dick was not mistaken. There was something deeper, but there was also a wheel within the wheel. said CHAPTER XVI. THE FRIEND IN NEED. The lock-up was a strong affair. It had been built to hold all it received, in the way of tough customers. In the rear wall were two windows, long and narrow—ioo narrow to admit of a man’s crawling through, even were there no bars, as there were. pc The windows were too high up for the prisoners to see out without getting up on the table to do so, and even then they faced the bare mountain on the scuth of the guich, and little was-to be seen. The jail was on the outskirts of the town, as if, an unclean thing, it had been set apart. ‘Night came on and settled down. The prisoners had a light, however, and a bottle of wine and plenty of cigars. True to his word, Murray had seen to it that they wanted for nothing the town could supply, and they were as comfort- able as they could be made. They spent the evening talking, trying to plan some means of getting out. While they were thus engaged, there has heen came a tapping at the bars of one of tke . narrow windows, and they listened. There was no mistaking it, and Dick got up on the table, and shading his eyes with his hat from the light of the — lamp, tried to peer out. He could see nothing, however; the darkness was too great, and his eyes — “were blinded by the glare of the lamp before which he had been eee long. ; eas.
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7 4- ‘ 14 Deadwood Dick, Jr. Jr. ’s Big Play. While he looked, however, the tapping came again, and he saw that it was done by means of a stick that was being trailed lightly along across the bars by some person on the ground beneath the window. Who could it be? “Who is there?’ Dick~ called, just loud enough to be heard. “A friend,’ was the answer, in a wo- man’s voice. ‘Do you know your lives are in danger?”’ * Well, I am not surprised any to hear it,’ said Dick. “Tt is so. You are to be lynched at midnight, or later, unless I can get you out of there.” “Then it is to be hoped that you can get us out.” “JT intend to try. iI thought I would come first and warn you, and so put you on your guard. You must not go to sleep, but wait and watch for my return,” “Who are you?” inquired Dick. ‘““No matter now,” the response. will learn later.” “ You “All right. But what is your plan for getting us out? We can be preparing for~ it: “J think I can get a key that will un- lock the door. If I cam do that, all will be well. If not, I must help you some other way. I will bring two axes, if I ean do no better.” * All right, but the key if you can. And, say, bring us weapons, if possible.” SES wally With thac, Dick heard her scurry away in the darkness. About an hour later the tapping was heard again, and again Dick got upon the table. “ What luck?” he asked. “The best,” was the answer. ‘I will unlock the door and hurry away, and you come out in a minute or two and lock the door after you and take away the key.” “All right. And what then?” “Go around and come to the back door of the Guerdon cottage, and I will let you in.” That was all, and it was enough. Dick knew he had heard the voice before, and now he knew where. It was the Guer- dons’ servant, the woman ‘he had inter- viewed that morning. They next heard the lock turned, and waiting then a few moments they tried the door. It was unlocked. Hurrying out, they stumbled upon some weapons that lay on the sill, and which they quickly gathered up. They had before this put out their light, in order that they might not be seen, and that the woman might not be * detected in ‘her second visit, and now they quickly locked the door and made off. “Tf the woman was right, ” said Dick, ° + there will be a surprise party by and by.” “JT wouldn’t wonder,” rade. “They lost no time, but reached the Guerdon cottage as soon as possible, and the door opened at their coming. “Hurry in,” said the woman. “Do not be seen. I suppose I have run a great risk in what I have done, but I _ knew they meant to hang you, and that you were innocent. “ You have done us a great service, and said his com- _. I hope to repay it sometime.” “Do not mention that.” “How did you learn that we were to be lynched? ’” “That is something I prefer not to tell, but it came so ‘straight — t could “Rot Peat it.” “Very well, we will not press you. We ought to be well satisfied to be out of their reach. By the way, do you think they can suspect where we are?” “Only one man knows, and I know 1 ean trust him.” “Who is he?” ‘“He made me swear that I would not tell, before he would give up the key—” She stopped short, but it was too late to save what she evidently now wished she had not let out. She had given Dick the clew he desired. “Never mind,” said Dick, quietly. “I understand, but you need have no fear that I will let it out. Now, the real work on the case will begin, and there is going to be music by and by.” “T think I did wrong in keeping some- thing from you this morning,’ the wo- man observed. “Then you held something back?” * Yes.” “What was it?” “T told you I knew nothing about the letter .Mrs. Guerdon wrote before she went away.” “ And all the time you did, eh?” “T had it in my pocket.” “Well, Iam not a whole lot surprised.” “You see, she stopped me as I was going up to bed, and, finishing the let- ter, sealed it, and addressed it to Mr. Guerdon and handed it to me. She told me to hand it to Mr. Guerdon and no one else, the first thing in the morning. Then she bade me good-night.” “And you went on up to bed?” = ¥CR. Hits - * What did you think?”’. “That she was going to leave him; but what could I do? I could do noth- ing.” “Then you had reason to suspect that she loved another man—” “No, no, I do not believe anything of that kind, sir; she loved Mr. Guerdon with all her heart, but she had a secret.” “A secret?” “Yes; and some one knew it, and—” “T begin to get hold of the whole un- fortunate business, now,” said Dick, “Mr. Guerdon found it out and killed himself, and—” : But he paused without finishing. The woman had conducted them into the dining-room, where the shutters were closed and the shades drawn down, so eet no one without could discover any ght. “Do you think it would be right for me to deliver her letter to you?” she asked. “T do not think you can do any bet- ter,” said Dick. ‘“‘ You certainly cannot deliver it to Mr. Guerdon, and as I am here to solve the mystery and bring the truth to light, I gpught to have it.” “Well, here it is. Take it, and give me the key of the jail, which I will re-— turn where I got it while you read it.” It was an exchange Dick was glad to make, for he believed the letter was a key that would the better answer his purpose. And he was not mistaken. It opened the way for the eprins up of the whole business. CHAPTER XVII. ANOTHER MURDER MYSTERY. An hour after midnight, a score of silent men approached the jail. Not a word was spoken among them, and they moved like veritable shadows of the night, all of them in disguise. There was a peculiarity about their disguise, in that every man appeared ex- actly like all the rest. Long black gowns he Be them from their heads to their. eet. If known to one another, they certain- ly could not have been known to others, even if discovered. At the jail all was darkness. Silently they approached, and one of the foremost applied.a key to the lock and silently opened the door. No sound came from within, though they paused and listened, and the one who had unlocked the door stepped »ith- in, the others close after him, and the light of a bull’s eye was flashed around. * Gone!” That one word escaped the leader. They simply stood and stared, and for some moments could do nothing more, Some of them had their guns in hand, others held stout cords with which to have bound the prisoners, and another car- ried a coil of rope, none of which things were needed. If ever there were a surprised lot of men, they were they. “Gone!” The leader could only utter the ex- elamation again, and the others could only echo it. Dealing with mysteries for the past twenty-four hours, they were here con- fronted with one that beat them all, for of the others they had more or less knowledge. “Where are they? out?” “ Useless to ask; they are gone. Well, the party is over, boys; get out of here and ‘hunt your holes.” So said the leader, in rough, gruff voice, evidently an attempt at disguis- ing it, having made doubly sure the men were not there; and they all withdrew and the door was locked as before. _ There they parted, and the night swal- lowed them all. - “Bscapei? Impossible!” How did they get So exclaimed Mayor Murray the next morning, when Sheriff Crossen apprised him of the fact. ; “Yes, clean gone,’ “ Somebody let them out in the night, for the door was found locked as it was left, and no damage done.” “What do you think about it? can it have been?” “Why, I think there is no doubt that it was Deadwood Dick, and that some aide of his picked the lock and let him escape. There is no other explanation te offer.” “You must be right. And if that is the case—” We may expect to hear from him | again.” me Not a doubt of it. the better.” But the days passed, and nothing more — was heard of Deadwood Dick, and the affair was beginning to lose its keen edge, — Strangers came and went, trne, but they were closely watched by certain a individuals, on the quiet. One afternoon the stage-from the near- est railroad point—for Gold Ledge City was in a place inaccessible to railroads— brought a veiled woman into the town, who had with her a boy perhaps four- _ teen years of age. She registered and engaged two rooms, sf *. one for herself and the other for the boy, _ and order21 her meals brought to her ~ room, where they remained all the rest of the day, seeing no one. On the fol lowing morning they took the stage, and left as mysteriously as they had come. But something had been left behind. The servant who looked after the rooms presently came running down bf Who Well, we are in a cloud of mystery, and the sooner he — brings his search light to bear upon it, said the sheriff. | a eeu iat | Bei ee Re be A Gl eae
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| the hotel office, pale to the lips, and with her eyes widely distended. “Murder!” she gasped. “There is a dead man up in room 24. Come up and see.” And a good deal more in her nervy- ousness, startling all who heard her and | moving them to action. Those who followed her up found that she had spoken the truth. A man was z on the floor, with a knife buried adéep in his back. he knife was drawn out and he was rer and it was discovered that the cob Bliss, who had accused Deadwood Dick. Here was more mystery. Who and what was the woman? had she killed Bliss? The register gave little information— “Mrs. Green and son, Los Angeles, Cal.” It was believed immediately that it ‘Was an assumed name, and inquiry ar.d investigation were set on foot imme- diately. A call-boy in the hotel had taken a note for Bliss on the previous evening, and he had been seen to enter the hotel at an early hour that morning, evidently in response to it. The question was, was that woman Deadwood Dick in disguise? Some Le- lieved that it was, others that it was not. Deadwood Dick did not stab men in the back, it was argued. When his hand was shown, it would be open and above board; no deception. The death of Bliss brought forth a brace of fellows who claimed to have been his cousins, and who took charge of liis effects. Days passed, and even that mystery eeased to be talked about. But a sensation was approaching. The Gold Ledge National had resumed business, and Coleman had been pio- moted to the post of cashier. The mine had not yet been sold, and another pay-day was rolling close to hand. The Murrays held another confer- ence similar to one that we have already witnessed. “This thing has got to come to a head,” said the son, with decision. It can’t go on this way.’ “T agree with you, but it is only the postponement of the sale that has baffled us. Had the parties kept to their en- agement, all would now be well.” “And as they did not, it is far from well. That old score was all cleared up, and now we have got to open a new one. [ tell you, we will keep on till we burn our fingers, and badly, too.” “Can’t help it; we have got to tide Over this one time, at any rate. I will do it myself without your help, if you are afraid.” “You might, only for the books.” “Ah! I forgot.” -“ But, it has got to be the .ast. We are playing with edged tools, and the first thing we know one is going to fly back and give somebody a cut that he won't forget in a hurry.” “This will be the last, not a doubt of it. The sale will no doubt come off, ard that will ease up the whole matter ard give us a chance to square ourselves and get out.” “Tt has got to be the last, I tell yeu, sale or no sale. The murder of “uerdon has not been forgotten, even if it is not Why so much talked about—” “Sh! Don’t mention that again.” “What I was going to say, there is _ dan er—"" tell you that I don’t want to hear It came near giving us oye ‘pistes when it happened. I only wish | I knew where Deadwood Dick is. silence is trying my nerves.” trouble His “And that silver casket—” “TI will not hear of it. I tell you again the thing is accursed, and I wish old Wheaton were alive and had it with him | safe in Montana.” “ Well, to-night, I suppose.” “Yes, to-night.” They soon ended their the office. It had taken place in the office of the mine, if we forgot to make mention the fact, It was after the clerks had gone for the day, and no one was there to hear what was said, as they supposed, but in this they were mistaken. They had bagely locked the office end proceeded in the direction of the hotel, when a man appeared from behind the safe in the corner of the office, as if ris- ing out of the floor. He was roughly clad, and wore a heavy beard, but his hair and eyes, now that his face was in natural repose, sug- gested Deadwood Dick. “Well, my guess was right,” “T will be on hand to-night, fine fellows.” talk and left he said. too, my CHAPTER XVIII. THE THREE-FOLD ENIGMA SOLVED. Night, dark as Erebus. Two men stole forth from the shadows and approached the doors of the Gold Ledge National. A momentary pause, then the door swung silently open and they entered, closing it softly after them, all the time | taking care to make themselves appear as a part of the deeper shadows. Two or three times the faintest sug- gestion of a light came through the win- dows, but it drew no attention. Who- ever they were, they were exceedingly careful in the work they were doing. No sound came from within, and finally they | emerged as they had entered. They crept away even more cautiously, if possible, and were lost in the Stygian darkness. But, they were followed. After them crept a shadow as silent as they—one that did not for a moment lose sight of them nor yet betray his presence. By a roundabout way they proceeded to the office of the Gold Ledge Mine, where one of the leaders in the game opened the door and let himself in, the other remaining outside. A pause; then a light shone dimly from the windows. é Two or three minutes passed; then, of a sudden, a cry of alarm, a disappearing of the light, a hasty step or two, and a body came out through the window, carrying away sash and glass together! Instantly, as if by magic, a strong light flashed forth, showing up the front of the office almost as light as day; showing Daniel Murray at the step, too amazed to move, and his son on the ground, with a man pinning him by the throat. All this and more, for at the same mo- ment another actor appeared on the scene. The door opened, and a man of full beard and flashing eyes, roughly clad but of commanding presence, {filled the doorway. With clinched right hand, his left came up with index poinving straight at Murray, and in voice of force- ful command, he cried: “ Daniel Murray, your bluff game ends right herc!” Murra instinctively reached for a. gun, but, presto! a brace of them had es to the hands of the man before im! “No you don’t!” said the same calm Deadwood Dick, Jr.’s, Big Play. 15 voice. “It is my inning this time, and you are my prisoner. Draw that gun, or attempt to do so, and you are a dead man!” Murray’s face was : pale, but he was dogged. “Who are you?” he demanded. “By what right do you attempt to arrest me? Have we not the right to enter our own office at any hour, day or night?” With a quick motion of one hand the false beard was swept away, and came the answer: “Tam Deadwood Dick, whom once you sought to murder. I do not arrest you for entering your office, but for the mur- der, years ago, of Mrs. Henry Wheaton —Ha! I thought that shot would wing you, my fine fellow!” Murray staggered, his face like death, | and a sudden perspiration came to his the morning. brow. He might have fallen, but from the direction of the light sprang forward another man, and handcuffs were snapped upon his wrists. These had the effect to bring hia to, and he raged and stormed, but to no purpose. And the same fate fell to his Son, who was still on his back on the ground, held there by Horace Jeffries. Another man carried forward the light, now, the two being aides of the dauntl?ss detective. The prisoners were taken into the office of the mine, and the door was closed upon them. The safe was cpen, and in it were the funds which had just been taken from the bank. ; The man who had the light was Geerge Coleman. : “Look at that money, Coleman,’ or- dered Dick, “ and see if you recognize it.” The new cashier did so, and said: “It is money that was in the safe of the Gold Ledge National at the clos- ing this afternoon.” “ Good!” exclaimed Dick. ‘“ The money is here, and your books have been so doctored as to make it appear that it has been stolen by you. To-morrow this money would have been deposited to the credit of the Gold Ledge Mine.” The safe was further examined, and in it was found, also, the silver casket de- posited in the bank by Henry Wheaton. It evidently had not been opened: The sheriff was called, together with a justice; charges were properly preferred, and the prisoners were locked up in the jail, under guard. On the following day they had their ‘hearing, when Deadwood Dick appeared against them, and made such. an expose as was the sensation of the hour and ) created a great furore. He had taken time to make his case a thorough one against the culprits, and no link was wanting in the chain of evi- dence. Daniel Murray was shown to be no other than Charles Northton, at whose hands Mrs. Wheaton had met her death, and a confession was forced from rim. The silver casket had been the ob- ject he especially desired, for he had come to believe that it contained jewels of immense value. At length he had resolved to steal it and make away with it. He hoped to make it appear that some one else had done the work, so that he might enjoy the fruits of it with- out anything of the stigma attaching to him.> He was discovered by Mrs. Wh saton, however, and recognized, and, in the dread of the exposure that would follow, he stabbed her and fled, leaving the box in her possession. Wheaton himself was a sound sleeper, and knew nothing of- what had taken place until he aw2ke in Northton had taken tke
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16 money contained in the safe, and with that made good his escape into the far West, where, under his assumed name, he started anew in: life. Naturally, when ‘he saw the silver casket again, he was led to exclaim: “Tt is fate!’’ And even after it came into his possession he was afraid io apen it, owing to the queer inscription it hcre. That, however, had reference to some- thing far in the past, for the box bore evidences of being centuries old. What the box did contain was dia- monds. Wheaton had been gradually turning everything he had into dia- monds, and he had carefully weighed all his natural heirs in the balance cf his estimation, until he had lit upon young Jeffries as the one to whom leave his fortune. Coming to Gold Ledge, in the ccurse of his wanderings in search of the mur- derer of his wife, he there met, face to. face, with a couple of relations whom he had once before thrown off the track, and who, he rightly believed, intended to murder him for his wéalth, which they believed he carried on his person. Eluding them, hhe deposited the box in the bank»and hastened away, but they got on track of him and followed him, and murdered him. These were Jake Bliss and the two who at his death laid claim to his belongings. Guilty himself, Bliss had readily fallen into Murriy’s scheme of accusing Deadwood Dick of the murder of the cashier, for they all knew they had good reason to fear the matehless rogue-taker. Their scheme was to put ‘him out of the way by lynch- ing. ; : William Guerdon was shown to have killed himself. There was disclosed a sad chapter in real life. Before her mar- riage, Mrs. Guerdon had a child, a son, at this time—the time of the murder— fourteen years old. This secret she had ever kept from her husband, afraid to make it known. It came into the posses- sion of Jake Bliss, and he forced her into paying him handsomely for holding his tongue, a trap she was weak enough to fall into. Better to have thrown herself upon her husband’s merey at once and exposed the rascal. But, she did not, but asked her husband for money more often than he could stand. On one or two occasions he took it out of the bank funds, so urgent was her demand upon him; and then, when the Murrays began their stealings, and fixed the books to throw the thefts upon him, he suspected that his wife was the guilty one. He sent for Deadwood Dick to clear the matter up, but on the night before his coming he believed that he had discov- ered his wife’s perfidy, and took his own ‘life. Just after the suicide, the Murrays en- tered the bank to steal funds again to deposit on the morrow to meet their pay-day checks. They found the cashier dead, and quickly conceived the scheme of removing the pistol and lettimg it ap- pear that it had been a case of robbery and murder. This they did. Murray took also a létter that was found addressed to Guerdon’s wife, which he suppressed in order to make the other scheme the more perfect. Mrs. Guerdon, on her part, on the same night, having asked for money and’ been re- fused, and knowing that exposure must come, resolved to write out her confes- sion and run away, and did so, leaving it in the hands of the trusted servant, as We have seen. Later, learning of her husband’s act, she: returned, lured Jake Bliss to her he would. 654 Deadwood JYr.’s, room, and there killed him, a sweet re- venge after all he had made her suffer. She was not heard. of again in that section, but no doubt is devoting the re- mainder of her life towher only child. The Murrays got what they deserved, as did also the others who merited pun- ishment. As for Deadwood Dick, he re- ceived the warmest praise for the suc- cess he had wrought where, for a time, the maze of-mysteries had seem2d im- penetrable. = THB END, Next Hatr-Dime Limrary, No. 999. Jack Lang, the Privateer Rovar; UR, THE MAN OF MANY NAMES, BY T. J. FLANAGAN, Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. BY EDWARD L. WHEELER. Deadwood Dick Novela. 268 Deadwood Dick's Divide B68 Deadwood Dick’« Death Trah. Deadwood Dick’ Deals or, The Gold Brick of Oregon, Dendwood Nick's Pozen; or, The Fakir of Phantom Flat z an 408 5 . Duenta: or, Days in the Diggings. imate. eee Deadwood Dick In Dead City. Deadwood Dick’s Dinmonda. Deadwood Dick lu New York} or, A “Cute Care,” Deadwood Dick’« Dust; er, The Chained Mand. posavces eee ort ad 2 Crimeon Crescent Sign, end woot ek, drs, Defiance. Deadwood Dick, dria Full Hand, 9 Dealwoed Dick, Jr.’a, Big Round-Up, 4h Deadwood Bick Jr.’s Racket at Claim 10, - 471 Deadwood ‘ Jr.'s Corral; or, Bozeman Bill. Pendvacd-bist’ Sn, la tenancce . 7 «> In Deadwood, Dend wood rn, Compact, — Deadwood Jr.’s. Inheritance, Denaweoa dros Diggings, Deadwood army Dell verdnee, dr.« Vrotegee. Jr.'s, Three, dr.’s, Danger Ducks, dr.’a, Peath Hunt. dr., In Texas. drs, the Wild West Vidoog Ihnek, Jr., on Mla Nettle, Dick, Jr., in Gotham, ‘, dr., in Boston, Jr., in Philadetphia, Jr., in Chicago. Jr... Afloat. er... in. Donvér. dria, Decrees i Jr., iu Beelzebub’s Roatn, dr., at Coney Island. Jri«, Lendyitle Lay. Jr.. In Detrolt. Dick. Jr. in Cincinnati, Dick, dr., In Nevada, Dick, dr., in No Man’« Land, Dick, Jr., After the Queer, Dick Jr.. In Buffalo. — Diek, Jr.'s, Chase Acroaathe Continent Dick, Jr., Among the Smugglers, cadwood Bick; dre Hack to the Mine woo ck, dr.. Back tn the Mines, Deadwood Dick, dr., In Puranget or, “ Gathered In.” : ine te Diek arm ak Found a Fortune, woo ra, Dazzle. Dend wood Jr.'s, Rolfurn. & Deadwood Deadwood Dead wood >» Deadwood Deadwood Deadwood Deadwood Dendwood Dendwood Deadwood DPendwood Dendwood Dend wood Dead wood § Dendwood Dead wooa Deadwood > Deadwood Deadwood Yendwoou Dendwood Peadwooa Deadwood Deadwooa Deadwood Deadwood Deadwood Deadwood I S82 Dendwooe 590 Deadwood 595 Deadwood 600 Deadwood 606 Deadwood 612 Deadwood 618 Deadwood 624 Deadwood 680 Deadwood Deadwood Deadwood Deadwood Deadwood Dendwood r., In San Pranctaco, Dick, Jr.te Still Want, Dick, Ira Domtnoes, Dick, Jr.’a, Disgulec, Dick. Jr.'s, Donble Deal Dick Jr.'s, Denthwateh, Bick, Jr.'s, Honblet. Dick. Jr.%*, Deathblow. Hick, Jr.’#, Deaperate Strait. Dlel, Jr.’a, Lone Hand, Dick, Jr’a Defeat. Dick, dr.’s, Reaurreciion, Dick. Ire Dark Daya. Ick. Jr.» Defled. Piek, Jnr’s, Double Device. ZT Dendwood Dick, en Despernte Venture, Dendwood Dick, Jr.’«, Diamond Dice. Deadwood Dick Jr.’a, Royal F Dendwood Dick, dra IMead-off, Deadwood Dick, Jr.’«, Rival, Dendwood Dick, Jr.’«, Boom. 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