was some obnoxious pestilence on the face of the earth. Never mind,
though--let 'em keep on! Let them just continue their hounding game,
and see which comes up on top when the bag's shook. If more than one
of 'em don't get their fingers burned when they snatch Deadwood Dick
bald-headed, why I'm a Spring creek sucker, that's all. Maybe I don't
know who foots the bill in this reward business; oh, no; maybe I can't
ride down to Deadwood and frighten three kind o' ideas out of this Mr.
Hugh Vansevere, whoever he may be. Ha! ha! the fool that h'isted that
notice didn't _know_ Deadwood Dick, or he would never have placed his
life in jeopardy by performing an act so uninteresting to the party in
question. Hugh Vansevere; let me see--I don't think I've got that
registered in my collection of appellatives. Perhaps he is a new tool
in the employ of the old mechanic."

Darker and thicker grew the night shadows. The after-harvest moon rose
up to a sufficient hight to send a silvery bolt of powerful light down
into the silent gulch; like an image carved out of the night the horse
and rider stood before the placard, motionless, silent.

The head of Deadwood Dick was bent, and he was buried in a deep
reverie. A reverie that engrossed his whole attention for a long, long
while; then the impatient pawing of his horse aroused him, and he sat
once more erect in his saddle.

A last time his eyes wandered over the notice on the tree--a last time
his terrible laugh made the mountains ring, and he guided his horse
back into the rough, uneven stage-road, and galloped off up the gulch.

"I will go and see what this Hugh Vansevere looks like!" he said,
applying the spurs to his horse. "I'll be dashed if I want him to be