"Yes--a young lady." "I will promise;--how can I afford to do otherwise, under the existing circumstances. But, tell me, why did you force me to shoot that gambler?" "He was a rascal, and cheated you." "I know; but I did not want his life; I am averse to bloodshed." "So I perceived, and that made me all the more determined you should salivate him. You'll find before you're in the Hills long that it won't do to take lip or lead from any one. A green pilgrim is the first to get salted; I illustrated how to serve 'em!" Redburn's eyes sparkled. He was just beginning to see into the different phases of this wild exciting life. "Good!" he exclaimed, warmly. "I have much to thank you for. Did I kill that card-sharp?" "No; you simply perforated him in the right side. This way." They had been running straight up the main street. Now they turned a corner and darted down one that was dark and deserted. A moment later a trim boyish figure stepped before them, from out of the shadow of a new frame building; a hand of creamy whiteness was laid upon the arm of Ned Harris. "This way, pilgrims," said a low musical voice, and at the same instant a gust of wind lifted the jaunty sombrero from the speaker's head, revealing a most wonderful wealth of long glossy hair; "the 'toughs' are after you, and you cannot find a better place to coop than in here." The soft hand drew Ned Harris inside the building, which was finished, but unoccupied, and Redburn followed, nothing loth to get into a place of safety. So far, Deadwood had not impressed him favorably as being the most peaceable city within the scope of a continent. Into an inner room of the building they went, and the door was closed behind them. The apartment was small and smelled of green lumber. A table and a few chairs comprised the furniture; a dark lantern burned suspended from the ceiling by a wire. Redburn eyed the strange youth as he and Harris were handed seats. Of medium hight and symmetrically built; dressed in a carefully tanned costume of buck-skin, the vest being fringed with the fur of the mink; wearing a jaunty Spanish sombrero; boots on the dainty feet of patent leather, with tops reaching to the knees; a face slightly sun-burned, yet showing the traces of beauty that even excessive dissipation could not obliterate; eyes black and piercing; mouth firm, resolute, and devoid of sensual expression: hair of raven color and of remarkable length;--such was the picture of the youth as beheld by Redburn and Harris. "You can remain here till you think it will be safe to again venture forth, gentlemen," and a smile--evidently a stranger there--broke out about the speaker's lips. "Good-evening!" "Good-evening!" nodded Harris, with a quizzical stare. The next moment the youth was gone. "Who was that chap?" asked Redburn, not a little bewildered. "That?--why that's Calamity Jane!" "Calamity Jane? _What_ a name."