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It was not rock that he touched, but a piece of canvas or similar material. This was nothing new to the dashing young deadshot, for he had been up against all kinds of devices, and, he simply gave a low chuckle of satisfaction. "I'm mighty glad I followed you, Mr. Cap Roche," he thought. "Now, I reckon it will be easy to settle the business.
He had earned the title of the Champion Deadshot of the West by his remarkable skill with the rifle and revolver, and he was ever ready to defend the title against all comers. Many of his warmest friends called him the Prince of the Saddle, because he was without a peer at breaking and riding the wildest and most vicious horses of the West.
Being the owner of several gold and silver mines, the young deadshot had an income that was more than sufficient to permit him to pursue his favorite hobby, which was riding about through the wildest parts of the states and territories in search of adventure.
But when they saw the young deadshot they became suddenly silent. "Hello!" called out Wild, speaking in his cool and easy way. "So you are going back to the ranch, eh?" "Yes," answered the one he had handled so roughly. "I reckon we've about had our spree, so we'll go back now." "How far is your ranch from here?" queried Wild, as he stepped up closer to them.
But he went on without any hesitation, prepared for anything that might turn up. The place was totally strange to him, but the boy had confidence in the sorrel stallion he rode. Spitfire would surely follow the horse that was ahead. There was no mistake about that. On went the dashing young deadshot, covering the ground rapidly.
Two of the outlaws had dropped when the scout fired, but the others were so close upon them that Wild was seized and pulled from his horse in less than a second, almost. The young deadshot struck at them with his clenched fists and made it decidedly unpleasant for them. But he knew he could not get away, and he was simply doing this to give his companions a chance.
Their experience with the Champion Deadshot and his partners had been quite enough to make them understand that they had struck a proposition that was a little different from what they were in the habit of facing. While they were talking over it a horseman rode into the cave. It was Cap Roche, the leader of the outlaw band.
He didn't fool me, Et, for I found where he went." "Git out!" exclaimed the scout, jubilantly. "Yes, I was right there in the proper time. But I'll tell you all about it." This the young deadshot did, and when he had done the faces of his partners and the girls wore smiles of delight and satisfaction.
"It is the easiest way out of it. If you fight it out there won't be one man left of you, Roche!" "I'll never surrender!" was the defiant shout. "Go ahead and shoot me, if you want to. I am going to die fighting." He rolled over and got upon his feet, regardless of the fact that the finger of the young deadshot was upon the trigger of the revolver that was aimed at him.
If the authors and publishers of 'Dick Deadshot, and such remarkable works, were suddenly to make a raid upon the educated class, were to take down the names of every man, however distinguished, who was caught at a University Extension Lecture, were to confiscate all our novels and warn us all to correct our lives, we should be seriously annoyed.
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