“Silence!  Listen!” Two words this time, in the same clear, commanding voice.  A pause of a moment, then the stillness is broken by the ominous click! click! of a score of rifles; this alone announces that the stage is “covered.”

Then the lone horseman rides leisurely down toward the stage, and Jehu recognizes him.  It is Deadwood Dick, Prince of the Road!

Mounted upon his midnight steed, and clad in his weird suit of black, he makes an imposing spectacle, as he comes fearlessly up.  Well may he be bold and fearless, for no one dares to raise a hand against him, when the glistening barrels of twelve rifles protruding from each thicket that fringes the road threaten those within and without the stage.

Close up to the side of the coach rides the daring young outlaw, his piercing orbs peering out from the eye-holes in his black mask, one hand clasping the bridle-reins the other a nickel-plated seven-shooter drawn back at full cock.

“You do well to stop, Bill McGucken!” the road-agent, observes, reining in his steed.  “I expected you hours ago, on time.”

“Twarn’t my fault, yer honor!” replies Jehu, meek as a lamb under the gaze of the other’s popgun.  “Ye see, we broke a pole this side o’ Custer City, an’ that set us behind several p’ints o’ ther compass.”

“What have you aboard to-night worth examining!”

“Nothin’, yer honor.  Only a stageful uv passengers, this trip.”

“Bah! you are getting poor.  Get down from off the box, there!”

The driver trembled, and hesitated.

“Get down!” again commanded the road-agent, leveling his revolver, “before I drop you.”

In terror McGucken made haste to scramble to the ground, where he stood with his teeth chattering and knees knocking together in a manner pitiable to see.  “Ha, ha, ha!” That wild laugh of Deadwood Dick’s made the welkin ring out a weird chorus.  “Bill McGucken, you should join the regular army, you are so brave.  Ha, ha, ha!”

And the laugh was taken up by the road-knights, concealed in the thicket, and swelled into a wild, boisterous shout.

Poor McGucken trembled in his boots in abject terror, while those inside the coach were pretty well scared.

“Driver!” said the Prince of the Road, coolly, after the laugh, “go you to the passengers who grace this rickety shebang and take up a collection.  You needn’t cum to me wi’ less’n five hundred ef ye don’t want me to salt ye!”

Bowing humble obeisance, McGucken took off his hat, and made for the stage door.

“Gentlemen!” he plead, “there is need o’ yer dutchin’ out yer dudads right liberal ef ye’ve enny purtic’lar anticypation an’ desire ter git ter Deadwood ter-night.  Dick, the Road-Agent, are law an’ gospel heerabouts, I spec’late!”

“Durned a cent’ll I fork!” growled one old fellow, loud enough to be heard.  “I ain’t afeerd o’ all the robber Dicks from here ter Jerusalum.”