CHAPTER III.
THE "CATTYMOUNT"--A QUARREL AND ITS RESULTS.
The "Metropolitan" saloon in Deadwood, one week subsequent to theevents last narrated, was the scene of a larger "jamboree" than formany weeks before.
It was Saturday night, and up from the mines of Gold Run, Bobtail,Poor Man's Pocket, and Spearfish, and down from the Deadwood inminiature, Crook City, poured a swarm of rugged, grisly gold-diggers,the blear-eyed, used-up-looking "pilgrim," and the inevitable warysharp, ever on the alert for a new buck to fleece.
The "Metropolitan" was then, as now, the headquarters of the BlackHills metropolis for arriving trains and stages, and as a naturalconsequence received a goodly share of the public patronage.
A well-stocked bar of liquors in Deadwood was _non est_ yet the saloonin question boasted the best to be had. Every bar has its clerk at apair of tiny scales, and he is ever kept more than busy weighing outthe shining dust that the toiling miner has obtained by the sweat ofhis brow. And if the deft-fingered clerk cannot put six ounces of dustin his own pouch of a night, it clearly shows that he is not long inthe business.
Saturday night!
The saloon is full to overflowing--full of brawny rough, and grislymen; full of ribald songs and maudlin curses; full of foulatmospheres, impregnated with the fumes of vile whisky, and worsetobacco, and full of sights and scenes, exciting and repulsive.
As we enter and work our way toward the center of the apartment, ourattention is attracted by a coarse, brutal "tough," evidently justfresh in from the diggings; who, mounted on the summit of an emptywhisky cask, is exhorting in rough language, and in the tones of abellowing bull, to an audience of admiring miners assembled at hisfeet, which, by the way, are not of the most diminutive patternimaginable. We will listen:
"Feller coots and liquidarians, behold before ye a real descendant uvCain and Abel. Ye'll reckolect, ef ye've ever bin ter camp-meetin',that Abel got knocked out o' time by his cuzzin Cain, an becawse Abelwar misproperly named, and warn't _able_ when the crysis arriv terdefen' himsel' in an able manner.
"Hed he bin 'heeled' wi' a shipment uv Black Hills sixes, thet wouldhev _enabled_ him to distinguish hisself fer superyer ability. Now, asI sed before, I'm a lineal descendant uv ther notorious Ain and Cable,and I've lit down hyar among ye ter explain a few p'ints 'bout trueblessedness and true cussedness.
"Oh! brethern, I tell ye I'm a snorter, I am, when I git a-goin'--awild screechin' cattymount, right down frum ther sublime spheres upStarkey--ar' a regular epizootic uv religyun, sent down frum clouddumand scattered permiscously ter ther forty winds uv ther earth."
We pass the "cattymount," and presently come to a table at which ayoung and handsome "pilgrim," and a ferret-eyed sharp are engaged atcards. The first mentioned is a tall, robust fellow, somewhere in theneighborhood of twenty-three years of age, with clear-cut features,dark lustrous eyes, and teeth of pearly whiteness. His hair is longand curling, and a soft brown mustache, waxed at the ends, is almostperfection itself.
Evidently he is of quick temperament, for he handles the cards with aswift, nervous dexterity that surprises even the professional sharphimself, who is a black, swarthy-looking customer, with "villain"plainly written in every lineament of his countenance; his eyes, hair,and a tremendous mustache that he occasionally strokes, are of a jettyblack; did you ever notice it?--dark hair and complexion predominateamong the gambling fraternity.
Perhaps this is owing to the condition of the souls of some of thesecharacters.
The professional sharp in our case was no exception to the rule. Hewas attired in the hight of fashion, and the diamond cluster,inevitably to be found there, was on his shirt front; a jewel ofwonderful size and brilliancy.
"Ah! curse the luck!" exclaimed the sharp, slapping down the cards;"you have won again, pilgrim, and I am five hundred out. By the gods,your luck is something astonishing!"
"_Luck!_" laughed the other, coolly: "well, no. I do not call it luck,for I never have luck. We'll call it chance!"
"Just as you say," growled the gambler, bringing forth a new pack."Chance and luck are then twin companions. Will you continue longer,Mr.----"
"Redburn," finished the pilgrim.
"Ah! yes--Mr. Redburn, will you continue?"
"I will play as long as there is anything to play for," again finishedMr. R., twisting the waxed ends of his mustache calmly. "Maybe youhave got your fill, eh?"
"No; I'll play all night to win back what I have lost."
A youth, attired in buck-skin, and apparently a couple of yearsyounger than Redburn, came sauntering along at this juncture, andseeing an unoccupied chair at one end of the table (for Redburn andthe gambler sat at the sides, facing each other), he took possessionof it forthwith.
"Hello!" and the sharp swore roundly. "Who told _you_ to mix in yourlip, pilgrim?"
"Nobody, as I know of. Thought I'd squat right here, and watch your_sleeves_!" was the significant retort, and the youth laid a cockedsix-shooter on the table in front of him.
"Go on, gentlemen; don't let me be the means of spoiling your fun."
The gambler uttered a curse, and dealt out the pasteboards.
The youth was watching him intently, with his sharp black eyes.
He was of medium hight, straight as an arrow, and clad in aloose-fitting costume. A broad sombrero was set jauntily upon the leftside of his head, the hair of which had been cut close down to thescalp. His face--a pleasant, handsome, youthful face--was devoid ofhirsute covering, he having evidently been recently handled by thebarber.
The game between Mr. Redburn and the gambler progressed; the eyes ofhe whom we have just described were on the card sharp constantly.
The cards went down on the table in vigorous slaps, and at last, Mr.Pilgrim Redburn raked in the stakes.
"Thunder 'n' Moses!" ejaculated the sharp, pulling out his watch--anelegant affair, of pure gold, and studded with diamonds--and laying itforcibly down upon the table.
"There! what will you plank on that!"
Redburn took up the time-piece, turned it over and over in his hands,opened and shut it, gave a glance at the works, and then handed itover to the youth, whom he instinctively felt was his friend. Redburnhad come from the East to dig gold, and therefore was a stranger inDeadwood.
"What is its money value?" he asked, familiarizing his tone. "Good, Isuppose."
"Yes, perfectly good, and cheap at two hundred," was the unhesitatingreply. "Do you lack funds, stranger?"
"Oh! no. I am three hundred ahead of this cuss yet, and--"
"You'd better quit where you are!" said the other, decisively. "You'lllose the next round, mark my word."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Redburn, who had begun to show symptoms ofrecklessness. "I'll take my chances. Here, you gamin, I'll cover thewatch with two hundred dollars."
Without more ado the stakes were planked, the cards dealt, and thegame began.
The youth, whom we will call Ned Harris, was not idle.
He took the revolvers from the table, changed his position so that hisface was just in the opposite direction of what it had been, andcommenced to pare his finger nails. The fingers were as white and softas any girl's. In his hand he also held a strangely-angled little box,the sides of which were mirror-glass. Looking at his finger-nails healso looked into the mirror, which gave a complete view of thecard-sharp, as he sat at the table.
Swiftly progressed the game, and no one could fail to see how it wasgoing by watching the cunning light in the gambler's eye. At last thegame-card went down, and next instant, after the sharp had raked inhis stakes, a cocked revolver in either hand of Ned Harris covered thehearts of the two players.
"Hello!" gasped Redburn, quailing under the gaze of a cold steeltube--"what's the row, now?"
"Draw your revolver!" commanded Harris, sternly, having an eye on thecard-sharp at the same time, "Come! don't be all night about it!"
Redburn obeyed; he had no other choice.
"Cock it and cover your man!"
/>
"Who do you mean?"
"The cuss under my left-hand aim."
Again the "pilgrim" felt that he could not afford to do otherwise thanobey.
So he took "squint" at the gambler's left breast after which Harriswithdrew the siege of his left weapon, although he still covered theyoung Easterner, the same. Quietly he moved around to where thecard-sharp sat, white and trembling.
"Gentlemen!" he yelled, in a clear, ringing voice, "will some of youstep this way a moment?"
A crowd gathered around in a moment: then the youth resumed:
"Feller-citizens, all of you know how to play cards, no doubt. What isthe penalty of cheating, out here in the Hills?"
For a few seconds the room was wrapt in silence; then a chorus ofvoices gave answer, using a single word:
"Death!"
"Exactly," said Harris, calmly. "When a sharp hides cards in Chinamanfashion up his sleeve, I reckon that's what you call cheatin', don'tyou?"
"That's the size of it," assented each bystander, grimly.
Ned Harris pressed his pistol-muzzle against the gambler's forehead,inserted his fingers in each of the capacious sleeves, and a momentlater laid several high cards upon the table.
A murmur of incredulity went through the crowd of spectators. Even"pilgrim" Redburn was astonished.
After removing the cards, Ned Harris turned and leveled his revolverat the head of the young man from the East.
"Your name?" he said, briefly, "is--"
"Harry Redburn."
"Very well. Harry Redburn, that gambler under cover of your pistol isguilty of a crime, punishable in the Black Hills by death. As you arehis victim--or, rather, were to be--it only remains for you to aimstraight and rid your country of an A No. 1 dead-beat and swindler!"
"Oh! no!" gasped Redburn, horrified at the thought of taking the lifeof a fellow-creature--"I cannot, I cannot!"
"You _can!_" said Harris, sternly; "go on--_you must salt thatcard-sharp, or I'll certainly salt you!_"
A deathlike silence followed.
"_One!_" said Harris, after a moment.
Redburn grew very pale, but not paler was he than the card-sharp justopposite. Redburn was no coward; neither was he accustomed to thedesperate character of the population of the Hills. Should he shootthe tricky wretch before him, he knew he should be always callinghimself a murderer. On the contrary, in the natural laws of Deadwood,such a murder would be classed justice.
"_Two!_" said Ned Harris, drawing his pistol-hammer back to full cock."Come, pilgrim, are you going to shoot?"
Another silence; only the low breathing of the spectators could beheard.
"_Three!_"
Redburn raised his pistol and fired--blindly and carelessly, notknowing or caring whither went the compulsory death-dealing bullet.
There was a heavy fall, a groan of pain, as the gambler dropped overon the floor; then for the space of a few seconds all was the wildestconfusion throughout the mammoth saloon.
Revolvers were in every hand, knives flashed in the glare of thelamplight, curses and threats were in scores of mouths, while some ofthe vast surging crowd cheered lustily.
At the table Harry Redburn still sat, as motionless as a statue, therevolver still held in his hand, his face white, his eyes staring.
There he remained, the center of general attraction, with a hundredpair of blazing eyes leveled at him from every side.
"Come!" said Ned Harris, in a low tone, tapping him on theshoulder--"come, pardner; let's git out of this, for times will bebrisk soon. You've wounded one of the biggest card-devils in theHills, and he'll be rearin' pretty quick. Look! d'ye see that fellercomin' yonder, who was preachin' from on top of the barrel, a bit ago?Well, that is Catamount Cass, an' he's a pard of Chet Diamond, thefeller you salted, an' them fellers behind him are his gang. Come!follow me, Henry, and I'll nose our way out of here."
Redburn signified his readiness, and with a cocked six-shooter ineither hand Ned Harris led the way.
Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road; or, The Black Rider of the Black Hills Page 3
