Deadwood Dicks Doom | Page 4

her dusky skin, her eyes of midnight color, and long sweeping wealth of wavy raven hair, which fell back below her waist.
In keeping with the wild seene around her, was she, and yet happy and free from care as the merry little chipmunk that darted across her path and disappeared in the shrubbery.
"Pretty mountain doves a-cooing,
Sturdy robins gone a-wooing-
Wonder what all birds are doing,
So happy, all, they seem."
she sung, as she stopped to pluck a pretty blossom from its stalk.
"And, by the way, little bird, suppose you tell us what you are doing," a voice exclaimed, and the owner, a tall, well-dressed man of prepossessing countenance, and the owner of a monstrous mustache, stepped from a clump of bushes where he had hitherto been concealed.
The Indian girl started violently, at sight of him, and would have run away, but he stepped quickly forward and seized her by the arm.
"Hold on! pretty bird! Don't be scared, I will not harm you!" he said, laughingly. "I simply want to have a talk with you."
"No! no! Siska does not know pale-face; he must let her go."
"But I can't do that just yet. Come to this log and sit down and answer some questions which I shall ask you, and then I will let you go."
And still retaining a hold of her hand and arm, he forced her to a seat upon a fallen tree, close by.
"There," he said, when they were both seated. "Now we are all prepared for a nice little chat."
The girl did not reply.
She was evidently greatly frightened, for she was trembling like a leaf.
The stranger noted the fact.
"Don't be afraid, my girl," he repeated, "I'll not hurt you. Now, to begin with, I want you to tell me how far it is from here to a place called Death Notch?"
"A couple of miles, or so."
"Ah! so near. Well, I'm in luck. Now, what is your name?"
"Siska, sir. Please let me go. Red Hatchet would be very angry if he knew I spoke to a pale-face."
"Oh! he would, eh? So he's one of those rabid old bucks, who is dead set on the white race?"
"Red Hatchet is a great warrior, and his anger is to be feared."
"Well, then, when you see him next, tell him to slice me a chunk of it, weighing about half a pound, and send it down to Death Notch. Now, Siska, you seem to be a pretty nice girl -- how'd you like to go along with me to Death Notch, an' keep house fer me in a snug little ten by twenty?"
"No, no! Siska not like it. She must return to the wigwam of her father."
"Oh, don't be in a hurry. I'll give you a lot of gold rings and other trinkets if you will go with me -- and plenty of money."
"No, no!" the girl repeated, impatiently.
"Siska not like pale-face -- no go with pale-face. Let the Indian girl loose, so that she can return to her father's lodge."
"Well, then you must give me a kiss, my bird of the wilderness, and you can go."
"No, no! Siska not kiss pale-face," she answered, struggling to release herself. "Paleface bad man, and Red Hatchet be angry at him."
"That don't matter to me. A kiss I'm going to have before you go, or my name's not Carrol Carner. So pucker up those pretty lips, my beauty, and submit to the inevitable."
"No, no! Help-help!" she screamed, struggling so violently that he found it impossible to accomplish his design.
"Curse you! you are as strong as a young bear," he gritted, savagely.
"Aha! I have you now, though, and now for my kiss!"
"Not by a jugful, stranger!" a stern voice cried, accompanied by rapidly approaching footsteps, and the next instant Carrol Carner found himself lying at full length upon the ground while over him stood a handsome fellow in sportish dress -- valiant Deadwood Dick.
"Ha! ha!" he laughed, sarcastically-- "what a figure you cut now, don't you, my presuming pilgrim? You reckoned you had this little girl dead to rights, didn't you, you infernal skunk, because she was alone and 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