[Illustration:  Lack of Confidence in Mankind]

Half a mile farther on we came to the Thunder Butte Creek which we had sought.  The water was almost blood-red, which ’Gene told us came from the gold stamp-mills on its upper course.  If the water had been gray it would have indicated silver-mining.  Just beyond we met the Deadwood Treasure Coach.  It was an ordinary four-horse stage, without passengers, but carrying two guards, each with a very short double-barrelled shot-gun resting across his lap.  The stage was operated by the express company, and was bringing out the gold bricks from the mines near Deadwood.

“I suppose,” said Ollie, musingly, “if anybody tried to rob the coach, those fellows would shoot with their guns?”

“Oh no,” replied Jack.  “Oh no; they carry those guns to fan themselves with on hot days.”  But Ollie did not seem to be misled by this astonishing information.

As we went on the road grew constantly more mountainous.  Sometimes the trail ran along ledges, and sometimes near roaring streams and waterfalls, and the great pine-trees were everywhere.  We passed two grizzly old placer-miners working just off the trail, and stopped and watched them “pan out” a few shovelfuls of dirt.  They were rewarded by two or three specks of gold, and seemed satisfied.  ’Gene told us afterward that one of them was an old California ’49er, who had used the same pan in every State and Territory of the West.

It was a little after noon when we drove into Deadwood—­the last point outward bound at which the Rattletrap expected to touch.  It was a larger town than Rapid City, and was wedged in a little gulch between two mountains, with the White Wood Creek rushing along and threatening to wash away the main street.  We noticed that the only way of reaching many of the houses on the mountain-side was by climbing long flights of stairs.  We drove on, and camped near a mill on the upper edge of town.

In the afternoon we wandered about town, and, among other places, visited the many Chinese stores.  We also clambered up the mountain-sides to the two cemeteries, which we could see far above the town.  It seemed to us that on rather too many of the head-stones, (which were in nearly every case boards, by-the-way) it was stated that the person whose grave it marked was “assassinated by” so-and so, giving the name of the assassin; but these were of the old days, when no doubt there were a good many folks in Deadwood who left the town just as well off after they had been assassinated.  “Killed by Indians” was also the record on some of the boards.  Ollie was greatly interested in the Chinese graves, with dishes of rice and chicken on them, and colored papers covered with curious characters—­prayers, I suppose.  We climbed on up to the White Rocks, almost at the top of the highest peak overlooking Deadwood, and had a good view of the town and gulch below, and of the great Bear Butte standing out alone and bold miles to the east.  We were tired, and glad to go to bed as soon as we got back to the wagon.