Part 12 (1/2)

”Indeed!”--with an amused laugh--”then you must have descended from a long line of respected ancestors.”

”Auntsisters? Wa'al, I jest about reckon I do. I hev got ther blood o'

Cain and Abel in my veins, boyee, an' ef I ken't raise the biggest kind o' Cain tain't because I ain't _able_--oh! no. Pace anuther pilgrim?”

”I reckon. How much have ye got piled up thar in that heap!”

”Squar' ninety tens, my huckleberry, an' all won fa'r, you bet.”

”Then it's the first time you ever won anything fair, Ca.s.s Diamond!”

exclaimed a voice close hand, and the two players looked up to see Ned Harris standing near by, with his hands clasped across his breast.

Calamity Jane nodded, indifferently. She had seen the young miner on several occasions; once she had been rendered an invaluable service when he rescued her from a brawl in which a dozen toughs had attacked her.

”Cattymount” Ca.s.s, brother of Chet Diamond, the Deadwood card-king, recognized him also, and with an oath, sprung to his feet.

”By all the Celestyals!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, jerking forth a six-shooter--”by all the roarin', screechin, shriekin', yowlin', squawkin,' ring-tailed, flat-futted cattymounts thet ever did ther forest aisles o' old Alaska traverse! _you_ here, ye infernal smooth-faced varmint? _You_ heer, arter all ye've did to ride ther cittyzens o' Deadwood inter rebellyun, ye leetle pigminian deputy uv ther devil? Hurra! hurra! boys; let's string him up ter ther nearest sapling!”

”Hal ha!” laughed Harris, coolly, ”hear the coward squeal for his pard's a.s.sistance. Da.s.sen't stand on his own leather fer fear of gettin' salted fer all he's worth.”

”You're a liar!” roared the ”Cattymount” spreading himself about promiscuously, but the two words had scarcely left his lips when a blow from the fist of Ned Harris reached him under the left eye, and he went sprawling on the ground in a heap.

”Here! here!” roared a stranger, rus.h.i.+ng in upon the scene, and hurling the crowd aside with a dexterity something wonderful. ”What is the meaning of all this? Who knocked Ca.s.s Diamond down?”

”I had that honor!” coolly remarked Ned Harris, stepping boldly up and confronting the Deadwood card-king, for it was the notorious Chet Diamond who had asked the question. ”I smacked him in the gob, Chet Diamond, for calling me a liar, and am ready to accommodate a few more, if there are any who wish to prefer the same charge!”

”Bully, Ned! and here's what will back you!” cried Calamity Jane, leaping to the miner's side, a c.o.c.ked six in either white, shapely hand; ”so sail in, pilgrims!”

Diamond cowered back, and swore furiously. The wound in his breast was yet sore and rankling, and he knew he owed it to the cool and calculating young miner whose name was an omen of terror among toe ”toughs” of Deadwood.

”Come on, you black-hearted ace thief!” shouted Calamity Jane, thrusting the muzzle of one of her plated revolvers forcibly under the gambler's prominent nose--”come on! slide in if you are after squar'

up-an'-down fun. We'll greet you, best we know how, an' not charge you anything, either. See! I've got a couple full hands o' sixes--every one's a trump! Ain't ye got no aces hid up yer sleeves?”

The card sharp still cursed furiously, and backed away. He dare not reach for a weapon lest the dare-devil girl or young Harris (who now held a c.o.c.ked pill-box in each hand),-”should salt him on a full lay.”

”Ha! ha! ha!” and the laugh of Calamity rung wildly through the great saloon--”Ha! ha! ha! here's a go! Who wants to buy a cupped-winged sharp?”

”Sold out right cheap!” added Ned, facetiously. ”Clear the track and we'll take him out and boost him to a limb.”

At this juncture some half a dozen of the gambler's gang came rus.h.i.+ng up, headed by Catamount Ca.s.s, who had recovered from the effects of the blow from Harris' fist.

”At them! at 'em!” roared the ”screechin' cattymount frum up nor'.”

”Rip, dig an' gouge 'em. Ho! ho! we'll see now who'll swing, _we_ will! We'll l'arn who'll display his agility in mid-air, we will. At 'em, b'yees, at 'em. We'll hang 'em like they do hoss-thieves down at Cheyenne!”

Then followed a pitched battle in the bar-room of the ”Metropolitan”

saloon, such as probably never occurred there before, and never has since.