Deadwood Dicks Doom | Page 9

audience
spellbound.
No such banjo playing had they ever heard or seen, for he would toss
the homely instrument and catch it again without interrupting the
current of his playing, and besides his songs were laughable and
original absurdities, well rendered.
Encore after encore greeted his artistic efforts, and each time he
responded with something a little better.
It was during the darky's playing that the door opened and a now-
comer strode into the room.
A murmur of "The Captain" and "Piute Dave" passed among those who
noticed his entrance, and several nodded to him, and then toward Miss
Vernon, who sat beside her sable companion with a pale face, and eyes
that flashed with indignation at being thus forced to serve as a
staring-block for a crowd of ruffians, who had neither pity nor respect
for womankind.
Piute Dave was fully on a part with his townsmen, as far as being
villainous-looking was concerned. He was a tall, heavy-set man of
some five-and thirty years, and looked like one who it would be hard to
handle, in a struggle.
In race he was dark, bloated and sinister, with shaggy brows, cold gray

eyes of evil expression, a sensual mouth shaded by a bristling black
mustache, and a thick neck and chin, the latter ornamented with a slight
goatee.
He was attired in knee-boots, light-colored trowsers, red shirt open at
the throat, corduroy jacket, and wide-rimmed hat, while a belt about his
waist contained a brace of handsomely trimmed revolvers.
He paused not far from the door, and with his hands thrust in his
pockets, fixed his gaze upon the girl upon the bar-a gaze intense in its
evil significance.
Virgie felt it, by some instinct, and turned to glance at the man-met the
gaze and then shudderingly averted her eyes.
Though terrible to her were the glances of the others, the eyes of this
man sent a thrill of horror through her being. She felt that in him she
had a designing villain to cope with-and she was not wrong.
Piute Dave was a villain-a fierce, self-willed ruffian, who hesitated at
no dark and terrible deed that would further his purpose. More than one
of those who had come to Death Notch to avoid Judge Lynch's noose,
had fallen by his hand, for a trivial offense, and there was not a man in
the town who did not stand in fear of him, even including the poetical
Shakespeare.
After his singing nearly a dozen different comic songs, the audience
seemed to grow tired of Nicodemus and a call was made for the girl to
sing!
"Yes, gal, let's heer frum you," the bullwhacker ordered, rubbing his
bands together, greedily. "You're ther very nightingale w'at our ears
acheth to hear. Give us a sorter o' Methodist tune-suthin' what'll make
us feel solemncolly like. As my late lamented namesake, Shakespeare,
has been known on several occasions to remark:
'Ketch a bird on ther wing,

And force it ter sing,
An' all in god time,
You'll hev music sublime.'"
Virgie saw that there was nothing left for her to do but to comply with
the demand of her rough audience, as she was alone, with the exception
of Nick, among strangers, and without defense.
She had already made up her mind to get through the concert as best
she could, and afterward attempt to escape from the town.
Therefore, tuning her guitar, which was a fine-toned instrument, she
selected a ballad from her repertory entitled- "My Dear Old Mother
Face," and sung it through in a sweet, pathetic voice.
Every man in the room stood in utter silence as though spellbound,
until she had finished, when there was a tremendous outburst of
applause. Rude and uncouth though the auditors, they could but
appreciate the beautiful song, heartily.
"Hip! hip! hooray! three cheers for ther bar schangled spanner! bow!
wow! wow!" at this juncture bellowed Bulldog Ben, elbowing forward
from the vicinity of a temporary bar, where he had been imbibing
numerous "bootlegs." "Thet war splendiferous, old gal thet war a reg'lar
old hymn right frum Halifax, harketh I, Bulldog Benjamin, ther
majestic mastiff o' Death Notch. Sweeter by far than ary essence o'
eslysium war thet old song about my old mother. I can now see her
s'archin' fer her inebriate son, along ther shady banks Other Mississippi,
you bet, an' ef evyer I did a noble act in my life I'm goin' ter kiss yer fer
remindin' ther Bulldog of his old main Bulldog -- bow! wow! wow!
barketh I!"
And the ruffian bounded nimbly upon the bar.
Virgie sprung to her feet with a cry of horror, but before the wretch
could lay a hand upon her there was the sharp crack of a revolver, and

he fell, bleeding, at her feet.