Deadwood Dicks Doom | Page 5

ha!" he laughed, sarcastically-- "what a figure you cut now, don't
you, my presuming pilgrim? You reckoned you had this little girl dead
to rights, didn't you, you infernal skunk, because she was alone and
unprotected? But, you see, all signs fail, when the wind blows me
down."
"The devil take you," Carrol Carner cried, arising to a sitting posture
and rubbing his cheek where the imprint of Deadwood Dick's knuckles
were yet to be seen. "Who are you, that you have this audacity?"
"A cuss from Custer -- a bulldog from Bozeman -- a diabolical devil
from Deadwood," Dick replied, dryly. "I don't carry any visiting cards
as I generally have a sheriff or marshal after me who carries them and
posts 'em up in every convenient place, viz.:- 'Five Hundred Dollars
reward for the capture of the notorious outlaw, Deadwood Dick, dead
or alive.' Seen any of them gentle little reminders up in this section?"
"If I had, I should use my own judgment about imparting the
information to you," Carrol growled, arising to a standing position. "I
want to know what business you had to strike me?"
"The business of being a consolidated protective association for the
protection of widders and orphans an' weak humans generally. I found
you an unscrupulous knave, attempting to kiss this girl against, her will,
and I very naturally lost control of my pugilistic members to that extent
that you immediately let her alone and set down."

"You shall answer for the insult, sir. I am going to Death Notch. If you
take pains to come there also, I'll punish you severely."
"Karect!" Deadwood Dick assented, with a taunting bow. "You may
look for me to-night Senator. Be kind enough to pedestrianize hence
most precipitately, now, will you, as your prescence is doubtless very
disagreeable to this young lady."
"Yes, I'll go, but remember, you shall yet repent your insult to me!"
Carner replied fiercely.
"For fear I may forget the admonition, perhaps I'd best write it down in
my diary, " was the sport's parting shot, as the stranger turned and
stalked down the gulch.
When he had gone from view, Dick turned to the Indian girl, who stood
a few paces away, regarding him with surprise in her big black eyes.
"There, miss, I've banished the snake, and you need have no fear of his
harming you," he said gallantly. "Luck always lets me happen along to
lay out such reptiles as he."
"Pale-face brave very good, and Siska is grateful to him for driving off
the bad pale-face," the girl replied, her eyes lighting up, wonderfully.
"Red Hatchet be very glad, when Siska tells him."
"Ah! so you are the daughter of the stern-handed chief, Red Hatchet,
are you?"
"I am. What does Deadwood Dick know of Red Hatchet?"
"Oh! So you infer that I am Deadwood Dick, eh? You are sharp! I
heard the history of Red Hatchet and Death Notch, before I came this
way. I allow Death Notch is a pretty tough town."
"Its lodges are filled with bad men, and Red Hatchet has placed a curse
upon their heads, and all who enter the town to stay. Surely you are not
going there?"

"Well, I reckon so. Thought I'd drop down that way, see if any one was
in trouble, and if so, help 'em out."
"Then, let Siska give you a token, to always shield you from the
vengeance of Red Hatchet or his agents," and she took a large tin star
from her pocket, with a ribbon attached to it, and pin it to Dick's vest;
then, turning, she waved her hand at him, and darted into the forest
with the speed of a young antelope.
Far up the mountain-side, not noticeable from Death Notch, yet from
where the town was plainly visible, nestling in the basin, was a great
projecting crag, the top of which was a plateau as level as a floor. From
the outer edge of the crag to the yawning abyss among the mountains
was a sheer descent of mayhap five hundred feet.
Death Notch was not at the foot of the mountain from which the crag
projected, a low range of hills intervening but was plainly visible from
the plateau with the naked eye, being over a mile distant on a bee-line.
Seated upon a camp-stool on this plateau, on the afternoon of the day
which opens our story, engaged in a survey of the town through a
powerful field-glass, was an old Indian of bent form and wrinkled
features -- the wreck of a once great warrior, now almost in his second
childhood from old age.
This was the father of the girl Siska -- Red Hatchet. For hours be had
sat there and studied the town through his