Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road; or, The Black Rider of the Black Hills — John Shaqi
Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road; or, The Black Rider of the Black HillsWheeler, Edward L. (Edward Lytton)
General
Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road; or, The Black Rider of the Black Hills
Wheeler, Edward L. (Edward Lytton)
Dime novels; Fiction; Western stories
"He told me if I would go with him before Anita and swear that she was
not legally my wife, and that I would never live with her, he would
again alter his will in my favor.
"Knowing that that would make no difference, so far as the law was
concerned, I sent Anita a note apprising her of what was coming, and
stating that she had best return to you until the old man should die,
when I would come for her. Subsequently I went before her in company
with the old man and swore as I had promised to do, and when I
departed she was weeping bitterly, but I naturally supposed it was
sham grief. A month later, on his death-bed, the old trader showed me
the letter I had sent her, and I realized that not only was my little
game up, but that I had cheated myself out of a love that was true. I
was left entirely out of the will, and ever since I have bitterly
cursed the day that tempted me to try to win gold and love at the same
time. Here, Edward Harris," and the young man drew a packet of papers
from inside his pocket, "are two certificates of my marriage, one for
Anita, and one for myself. You see now, that, although mine has been a
grievous error, no dishonor is coupled with your sister's name."
Ned Harris took one of the documents and glanced over it, the
expression on his face softening. A moment later he turned and grasped
McKenzie's hand.
"God bless you, old boy!" he said, huskily. "I am the one who has
erred, and if you have it in your heart to forgive me, try and do so.
I do not expect much quarter in this world, you know. There is Anita;
take her, if she will come to you, and may God shower his eternal
blessings upon you both!"
McKenzie turned around with open arms, and Anita flew to his embrace
with a low glad cry. There was not a dry eye in the room.
There was an impatient surging of the crowd outside; Dick saw that his
men were longing for the sport ahead; so he resumed his story:
"There is not much more to add," he said, after a moment's thought. "I
fled into the Black Hills when the first whispers of gold got afloat,
and chancing upon this valley, I built us a home here, wherein to live
away the rest of our lives.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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