Therefore, once the first shot was fired, it needed not a word to pitch the battle. Fiercely waged the contest--now hand to hand--loud rose the savage yells on the still night air. One by one men fell on either side, their life-blood crimsoning the floor, their dying groans unheeded in the fearful melee. Still unharmed, and fighting among the first, we see Ned Harris and his remarkable companion, Calamity Jane; both are black, and scarcely recognizable in the cloud of smoke that fills the bar-room. Harris is wounded in a dozen places and weak from loss of blood; yet he stands up bravely and fights mechanically. Calamity Jane if she is wounded shows it not, but faces the music with as little apparent fear as any of those around her. On wages the battle, even as furiously as in its beginning; the last shot has been fired; it is now knife to knife, and face to face. Full as many of one side as the other have fallen, and lay strewn about under foot, unthought of, uncared for in the excitement of the desperate moment. Gallons of blood have made the floor slippery and reeking, so that it is difficult to retain one's footing. At the head of the ruffians the Diamond brothers[C] still hold sway, fighting like madmen in their endeavors to win a victory. They cannot do less, for to back off in this critical moment means sure death to the weakening party. But hark! what are these sounds? The thunder of hoofs is heard outside; the rattle of musketry and sabers, and the next instant a company of soldiery, headed by Major R----, ride straight up into the saloon, firing right and left. "Come!" cried Calamity Jane, grasping Harris by the arm, and pulling him toward a side door, "it's time for us to slope now. It's every man for himself." And only under her guidance was Ned able to escape, and save being tailed and captured with the rest. * * * * * About noon of the succeeding day, two persons on horseback were coming along the north gulch leading into Deadwood, at an easy canter. They were the fearless Scarlet Boy, or as he is better known, Fearless Frank, and his lovely protege, Miss Terry. They had been for a morning ride over to a neighboring claim, and were just returning. Since their arrival in Deadwood the youth had devoted a part of his time in a search for Alice's father, but all to no avail. None of the citizens of Deadwood or its surroundings had ever heard of such a person as Captain Walter Terry. The young couple had become fast friends from their association, and Alice was improving in looks every day she stayed in the mountains. "I feel hungry," observed Frank, as they rode along. "This life in the hills gives me a keen appetite. How is it with you, lady?" "The same as with you, I guess. But look! Yonder comes a horseman toward us!" It was even so. A horseman was galloping up the gulch--no other than our young friend, Ned Harris.