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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.
The last tool, Hugh Vansevere by name, boldly posted up reward papers in the most frequented routes, and he went the same way as his predecessors.
Evidently his approach is heard, for instantly out of the "Metropolitan" there swarms a crowd of miners, gamblers and bummers to see "what the row is." "Is there a man among you, gentlemen, who bears the name of Hugh Vansevere?" asks the rider, who from his midnight dress we may judge is no other than Deadwood Dick.
"Get shot like poor Vansevere did!" sneered the other. "I tell you, governor, this is a desperate game you are playing." The old man smiled, grimly. "Desperate or not, we must carry it through to the end. Vansevere was not the right kind of a man to set after the young scamp." "How do you mean?" "He was too rash entirely too rash.
"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 so numerous with my name, especially with five hundred dollars affixed thereto, as a reward." Midnight.
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.
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