Deadwood Dick Jr. Branded: or, Red Rover at Powder Pocket.

"What do you intend doing with me?"

"That is something you will learn all in good time. Come! the handcuffs!"

"If it is your intention to kill me, I may as well die right here as anywhere; if you intend to give me a chance for my life, all right."

"Don't shoot here!" called out a timid passenger.

"It would be a good thing to do a little of it for your especial benefit," Dick declared ironically.

"No, don't resist, but go with 'em peaceably," the passenger urged. "It is better that one should make a sacrifice than that all should come to grief," he argued.

Dick and Captain Joaquin laughed.

"I intend to give you a show," said the latter. "Come, there is no time to fool away!"

Dick Bristol saw that there was only one chance for him. He knew that to hesitate ten seconds would mean his death. He was in a death-trap, and the dead-fall was ready to be sprung at a touch.

"All right; here you are!" he said, lowering his left hand, and thrusting it into his jacket pocket, he produced the required article. "Shall I put 'em on myself, or will you come and attend to that?"

"Put 'em on," said the captain. "I'll undertake to see that they are secure after that."

"All right."

There was a click, and Deadwood Dick stood handcuffed.

If only that car had contained half a dozen such men as he often had around him as allies!

As it was there was not a saving hand – not a single spirit brave enough to attempt his defense; and it was just as well, for had there been one such, he would have been unsupported; it would have been a needless sacrifice of a brave man.

"Now, then, come this way!" Captain Joaquin ordered. "Have you got any baggage aboard?"

"Not an ounce."

"All the better."

Dick advanced, as ordered, and way was made for him to pass out, the outlaws still covering the passengers with their guns.

One of their number laid a hand on Dick as he passed, and went with him, while the others backed away from the door, their revolvers still to the front, and sprang to the ground.

Captain Joaquin sounded a whistle.

His men backed away from the train with him, their Winchesters and revolvers ready for instant service.

When they had withdrawn to the distance of several yards, the captain shouted to the engineer to go ahead, but the conductor swung his arm and countermanded the order.

He and the trainmen had been held up in a group by themselves while the robbers were doing their work.

"What's the matter with you?" cried the Red Rover.

That, by the way, was a name by which the outlaw was fully as well known as by his appellation of Captain Joaquin.

"That express-car is the matter," was the answer. "You can't expect me to risk the lives of my passengers by starting before I see whether it is fit to run or not."

"It will hang together until you get to the next station, if you are careful, and that is all you want. Go ahead!" to the engineer. "If you don't, we will riddle you with bullets and start your train ourselves and run you straight to Satan!"

That settled it. The moment they turned their guns upon the engineer he blew the signal to go ahead, and pulled the throttle.

Finding that the express-car was on its trucks all right, and that it would run, he pulled the throttle again, and there was nothing for the conductor and trainmen to do but jump aboard.

The band of outlaws gave them a parting cheer, swinging their hats until the train rounded the next bend and passed out of sight.

The dead, we have forgotten to mention, had been thrown into the express-car.

The wounded outlaws were hurriedly cared for while the horses were brought.

Scarce ten minutes had been occupied, all together, and in two or three minutes after the departure of the train the robbers were wending their way into the mountains.

It had been one of Captain Joaquin's most daring raids, and at the same time one of his most successful; certainly it had brought him more than he had counted upon.

And, besides, Deadwood Dick – whom he had feared if he feared any man – was his prisoner!

That was, after all, his biggest haul, and he breathed easier.

He had known for some time, or had, with good reason, believed that the prince of detectives was on his trail, and his vigilance thus had been severely taxed. Now he had this terrible outlaw and crook-hunter corralled; that was glory enough for one year!

"Well, Deadwood Dick, I have got you at last," he remarked, as they rode along.

"Yes, so it appears. You have been looking for me, then?"

"Well, we have been looking for you, yes."

"And what do you intend to do with me, now that you have got me? On your word that you would give me a fair show, I placed these handcuffs on my wrists, as you see."

"Yes, and I have not tried them yet, as I promised to do, by the way. Here, Jim, just see if this fellow's irons are safe."

One of the men rode forward and tried them.

"He can't git out of them 'ar things, cap'n," he reported.

"All right. It seems you put them on to stay, Deadwood Dick. You have the key to them, of course."

"In my vest pocket."

"All right. Just relieve him of it, Jim."

"You bet, boss! We don't want him springin' no tricks on us, hey?"

The outlaw thrust his fingers into Dick's pocket and brought forth a small key, handing it to Captain Joaquin.