CHAPTER VII.
DEADWOOD DICK ON THE ROAD.
Rumbling noisily through the black canyon road to Deadwood, at an hourlong past midnight, came the stage from Cheyenne, loaded down withpassengers, and full five hours late, on account of a broken shaft,which had to be replaced on the road. There were six plunging,snarling horses attached, whom the veteran Jehu on the box, managedwith the skill of a circusman, and all the time the crack! snap! ofhis long-lashed gad made the night resound as like so many pistolreports.
The road was through a wild tortuous canyon, fringed with tallspectral pines, which occasionally admitted a bar of ghostly moonlightacross the rough road over which the stage tore with wildrecklessness.
Inside, the vehicle was crammed full to its utmost capacity, andtherefrom emanated the strong fumes of whisky and tobacco smoke, andstronger language, over the delay and the terrible jolting of theconveyance.
In addition to those penned up inside, there were two passengerspositioned on top, to the rear of the driver, where they clung to thetrunk railings to keep from being jostled off.
One was an elderly man, tall in stature and noticeably portly, with aflorid countenance, cold gray eyes, and hair and beard of brown,freely mixed with silvery threads. He was elegantly attired, hiscostume being of the finest cloth and of the very latest cut: bootspatent leathers, and hat glossy as a mirror; diamonds gleamed andsparkled on his immaculate shirt-bosom, on his fingers and from theseal of a heavy gold chain across his vest front.
The other personage was a counterpart of the first to everyparticular, save that while one was more than a semi-centenarian toyears, the other was barely twenty. The same faultless elegance indress, the same elaborate display of jewels, and the same haughty,aristocratic bearing produced in one was mirrored to the other.
They were father and son.
"Confound such a road!" growled the younger man, as the stage bouncedhim about like a rubber ball. "For my part I wish I had remained athome, instead of coming out into this outlandish region. It isperfectly awful."
"Y-y-y-e-s!" chattered the elder between the jolts and jerks--"it isnot what it should be, that's true. But have patience; ere long wewill reach our destination, and--"
"Get shot like poor Vansevere did!" sneered the other. "I tell you,governor, this is a desperate game you are playing."
The old man smiled, grimly.
"Desperate or not, we must carry it through to the end. Vansevere wasnot the right kind of a man to set after the young scamp."
"How do you mean?"
"He was too rash--entirely too rash. Deadwood Dick is a daring whelp,and Vansevere's open offer of a reward for his apprehension only putthe young tiger on his guard, and he will be more wary and watchful inthe future."
This in a positive tone.
"Yes; he will be harder to trap than a fox who has lost a foot betweenjaws of steel. He will be revengeful, too!"
"Bah! I fear him not, old as I am. He is but a boy in years, youremember, and will be easily managed."
"I hope so; I don't want my brains blown out, at least."
The stage rumbled on; the Jehu cursed and lashed his horses; thecanyon grew deeper, narrower and darker, the grade slightlydescending.
The moon seemed resting on the summit of a peak, hundreds of feetabove, and staring down in surprise at the noisy stage.
Alexander Filmore (the elder passenger) succeeded in steadying himselflong enough to ignite the end of a cigar to the bowl of Jehu's grimypipe; then he watched the trees that flitted by. Clarence, his son,had smoked incessantly since leaving Camp Crook, and now threw awayhis half-used cheroot, and listened to the sighing of the spectralpines.
"The girl--what about her?" he asked, after some moments had elapsed.
"She will be as much to the way as the boy will."
"She? Well, we'll attend to her after we git him out of the way. He isthe worst obstacle to our path, at present. Maybe when you see thegirl you will take a fancy to her."
"Pish! I want no petticoats clinging to me--much less an ignorantbackwoods clodhopper. She is probably a fit mate for an Indian chief."
"You are too rough on the tender sex, boy," and the elder Filmore gavevent to a disconnected laugh. "You must remember that your mother wasa woman."
"Was she?" Clarence bit the end of his waxed mustache, and mused overhis sire's startling announcement. "_You_ recollect that I never sawher."
"D'ye carry poppin'-jays, pilgrims?" demanded Jehu, turning sosuddenly upon the two passengers as to frighten them out of theirwits.
"Popping-jays?" echoed Filmore, senior.
"Yas--shutin'-irons--rewolvers--patent perforatin' masheens."
"Yes, we are armed, if that is what you mean."
On dashed the stage through the echoing canyon--on plunged thesnorting horses, excited to greater efforts by the frequentapplication of the cracking lash. The pines grew thicker, and themoonlight less often darted its rays down athwart the road.
"Hey!" yelled a rough voice from within the stage "w'at d'ye drive sofast fer? Ye've jonced the senses clean out uv a score o' us."
"Go to blazes!" shouts back Jehu, giving an extra crack to his whip."Who'n the name o' John Rodgers ar' drivin' this omnybust,pilgrim?--you or I?"
"You'll floor a hoss ef ye don' mind sharp!"
"Who'n thunder wants ye to pay fer et, ef I do?" rings back,tauntingly. "Reckon w'en Bill McGucken can't drive therthru-ter-Deadwood stage as gude as ther average, he'll suspendbizness, or hire _you_ ter steer to his place."
On, on rumbles the stage, down through a lower grade of the canyon,where no moonlight penetrates, and all is of Stygian darkness.
The two passengers on top of the stage shiver with dread, and even oldBill McGucken peers around him, a trifle suspiciously.
It is a wild spot, with the mountains rising on each side of the roadto a stupendous hight, the towering pines moaning their sad, eternalrequiem; the roar of the great wheels over the hardpan bottom; thesnorting of the fractious lead-horses; the curses and the cracking ofJehu's whip; the ring of iron-shod hoofs--it is a place and momentconducive to fear, mute wonder, admiration.
"_Halt!_"
High above all other sounds now rings this cry, borne toward theadvancing stage from the impenetrable space of gloom ahead, broughtdown in clear commanding tone whereto there is neither fear norhesitation.
That one word has marvelous effect. It brings a gripe of iron into thehands of Jehu, and he jerks his snorting steeds back upon theirhaunches; it is instrumental in stopping the stage. (Who ever knew aBlack Hills driver to offer to press on when challenged to halt to awild dismal place?)
It sends a thrill of lonely horror through the vein of those to whoseears the cry is borne; it causes hands to fly to the butts of weapons,and hearts to beat faster.
"Halt!" Again the cry rings forth, reverberating in a hundreddissimilar echoes up the rugged mountain side.
The horses quiet down: Jehu sits like a carved statue on his box; thesilence becomes painful to those within the stage--those who aretrembling in a fever of excitement, and peering from the open windowswith revolvers cocked for instant use.
The moon suddenly thrusts her golden head over the pinnacle of a hoarypeak a thousand feet above and lights up the gorge with a ghastlydistinctness that enables the watchers to behold a black horsemanblocking the path a few rods ahead.
"Silence! Listen!" Two words this time, in the same clear, commandingvoice. A pause of a moment, then the stillness is broken by theominous click! click! of a score of rifles; this alone announces thatthe stage is "covered."
Then the lone horseman rides leisurely down toward the stage, and Jehurecognizes him. It is Deadwood Dick, Prince of the Road!
Mounted upon his midnight steed, and clad in his weird suit of black,he makes an imposing spectacle, as he comes fearlessly up. Well mayhe be bold and fearless, for no one dares to raise a hand against him,when the glistening barrels of twelve rifles protruding from eachthicket that fring
es the road threaten those within and without thestage.
Close up to the side of the coach rides the daring young outlaw, hispiercing orbs peering out from the eye-holes in his black mask, onehand clasping the bridle-reins the other a nickel-plated seven-shooterdrawn back at full cock.
"You do well to stop, Bill McGucken!" the road-agent, observes,reining in his steed. "I expected you hours ago, on time."
"Twarn't my fault, yer honor!" replies Jehu, meek as a lamb under thegaze of the other's popgun. "Ye see, we broke a pole this side o'Custer City, an' that set us behind several p'ints o' ther compass."
"What have you aboard to-night worth examining!"
"Nothin', yer honor. Only a stageful uv passengers, this trip."
"Bah! you are getting poor. Get down from off the box, there!"
The driver trembled, and hesitated.
"_Get_ down!" again commanded the road-agent, leveling his revolver,"before I drop you."
In terror McGucken made haste to scramble to the ground, where hestood with his teeth chattering and knees knocking together in amanner pitiable to see. "Ha, ha, ha!" That wild laugh of DeadwoodDick's made the welkin ring out a weird chorus. "Bill McGucken, youshould join the regular army, you are so brave. Ha, ha, ha!"
And the laugh was taken up by the road-knights, concealed in thethicket, and swelled into a wild, boisterous shout.
Poor McGucken trembled in his boots in abject terror, while thoseinside the coach were pretty well scared.
"Driver!" said the Prince of the Road, coolly, after the laugh, "goyou to the passengers who grace this rickety shebang and take up acollection. You needn't cum to me wi' less'n five hundred ef ye don'twant me to salt ye!"
Bowing humble obeisance, McGucken took off his hat, and made for thestage door.
"Gentlemen!" he plead, "there is need o' yer dutchin' out yer dudadsright liberal ef ye've enny purtic'lar anticypation an' desire ter gitter Deadwood ter-night. Dick, the Road-Agent, are law an' gospelheerabouts, I spec'late!"
"Durned a cent'll I fork!" growled one old fellow, loud enough to beheard. "I ain't afeerd o' all the robber Dicks from here terJerusalum."
But when he saw the muzzle of the young road-agent's revolver gazingin through the window, he suddenly changed his mind, and laid aplethoric pocketbook into McGucken's already well-filled hat.
The time occupied in making the collection was short, and in a fewmoments the Jehu handed up his battered "plug" to the Prince of theRoad for inspection.
Coolly Deadwood Dick went over the treasure, as if it were allrightfully his own; then he chucked hat and all into one of hissaddle-bags, after which he turned his attention toward the stage. Ashe did so he saw for the first time the two passengers on top, and ashe gazed at them a gleam of fire shot into his eyes and his handsnervously griped at his weapon.
"Alexander Filmore, you here!" he ejaculated, his voice betraying hissurprise.
"Yes," replied the elder Filmore, coldly--"here to shoot you, youdastardly dog," and quickly raising a pistol, he took rapid and deadlyaim, and fired.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote B: A fact.]
Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road; or, The Black Rider of the Black Hills Page 7