AN UNEXPECTED SIGHT.
Five years afterward the murderer of Ben Talbot returned to that grave.
The inscription yet remained, though worn by time. Though five years
had passed they had left no trace of their footsteps upon the face of
the murderer, excepting to make the features harder and sterner.
He was dressed pretty nearly as upon his former visit to the gorge,
his black felt hat still looped up with the red coral hand, though his
knife and revolver were of a newer pattern, and his rifle was one of
Evans’ improved repeaters, capable of firing thirty-five times without
reloading.
When, five years before, Red Hand fled from the Black Hills, he
believed he would never again profane its unknown fastnesses with his
footsteps. But as time passed and the eyes of adventurers and hunters
were turned toward the country now called the “Miner’s New Eldorado,”
a small band of hardy men determined to penetrate into its unexplored
depths, and seek there the golden fortunes said to be buried beneath
the rocky hills.
The guide of that party was Buffalo Bill, the famous scout. As the
party neared the almost unknown depths of the Black Hills, he had
decided to employ another as a guide, for army duty was soon to call
him in another direction.
The guide thus chosen was Red Hand, for he was well known along the
frontier as one of the most daring men on the border, and his skill
in wood and prairie craft, and ability to outwit Indian cunning, had
gained him a widespread reputation among the bold bordermen and the
soldiers of the outposts.
Of Red Hand little, if anything, was known regarding his real name,
whence he came, or why he, a man of superior education and ability, had
banished himself from civilization and become an Indian fighter and
hunter upon the Western border.
Five years before his solitary pilgrimage into the Black Hills he had
appeared upon the frontier, well armed and mounted, and possessed of
considerable money, and his polite manner and ready generosity soon won
for him many admirers, though no man among his companions could boast
of being his intimate friend, or of any knowledge regarding him.
His blood-red right hand attracted attention. But only one man had
dared to make jest regarding it, and he never repeated the offense, for
he found the stranger not the one to trifle with.
At first, the life on the plains seemed strange to Red Hand, for by
that name he now became known, and, as if to encourage it, or to hide
his real name, he adorned his hat with the red coral hand.
However, he quickly learned the crafty ways of the Indian, could soon
strike a trail and follow it across the prairies, became a dead shot
with rifle and revolver, and a desperate fighter with the knife. Hence,
before two years’ stay on the border, he was noted as a scout and
hunter of superior ability, and a man of undaunted courage.
After long days of travel the hill country was reached by the exploring
party. Remembering a number of advantageous localities for a safe
camp, Red Hand conducted the men to one of the most favorable positions.
After a short rest he set out alone to visit the gorge, several miles
above the encampment, for an irresistible attraction lured him once
more to the place which held the grave of Ben Talbot. For a long time
after his arrival there Red Hand stood in silent bitterness at the
grave, his eyes cast down and his hands resting upon the muzzle of his
rifle.
On his stern face was a shadow of mingled sorrow and pain, as some
haunting memory was recalled from the long-buried past. At length, with
a deep-drawn sigh, he slung his rifle across his shoulder and strode
away, his eyes carefully scanning the ground, for around the grave were
traces that showed that other feet than his had lately been there.
Steadily following the trail, it led him, after a tramp of a mile, into
a narrow gulch, where his ears were suddenly startled by the unexpected
and ringing report of a rifle, followed by a series of yells, which he
well knew to be the war cry of the wild Sioux of the northern tribes.
A single shot followed. Feeling confident that some one of his comrades
had left camp and met with a band of Indians, Red Hand ran hastily
forward, and turning a bend in the gulch, beheld a sight that for the
moment deprived him of action, so great was his surprise.
Upon a ledge of rock, and partially protected by a huge bowlder, stood
a young girl, scarcely more than sixteen years of age. A suit of
buckskin, with dressed skirt, and leggings elaborately embroidered,
set off her figure, and a soft hat surmounted her head, and half hid
braids of golden hair that were in lovely contrast to her large black
eyes and dark lashes and eyebrows.
The face was browned almost to the hue of an Indian’s, yet the pure
blood of the white shone in every feature of her beautiful and daring
face. Though in deadly danger, the girl stood her ground with fearless
determination, her small rifle, evidently just discharged, clubbed in
both hands to beat back three painted Sioux warriors who were rapidly
bounding up the steep hillside to the ledge where she stood.
Two more Indians lay farther down the slope, one motionless in death,
the other writhing in agony, for a stream of blood poured from a wound
in his side. That the girl had been surprised by the Indians and had
sought the ledge for safety, was evident, and that her rifle had
dropped two of her enemies was also evident, while her powder flask
and shot pouch, attached to her belt, and lying halfway up the slope,
proved that she had lost her means of further defense.
This fact the three remaining warriors knew, and with wild yells they
bounded on up the steep ascent, while their pale but daring girl foe
stood her ground with clubbed rifle to meet them. Such was the sight
that greeted the eyes of Red Hand, and his surprise for a moment kept
him motionless.
Another bound of the leading warrior carried him almost within reach of
the clubbed rifle, and the uplifted tomahawk showed that the girl would
be killed unless Red Hand acted quickly.
And Red Hand did act quickly. His rifle butt touched his shoulder, his
red forefinger tripped the trigger, the splendid weapon hurled forth
its deadly pill, and the Sioux sank dead at the feet of the girl he
would have slain.
Before the startled comrades of the fallen brave could fly, there
followed two more quick reports from Red Hand’s rifle, and the two
dropped dead in their tracks. In utter surprise, and with astonishment
upon every feature of her face, the rescued girl rapidly descended the
slope, picking up her belt as she came, and stood before Red Hand, her
manner that of commingled timidity and fearlessness, while in a voice
strangely melodious she said:
“I thought the paleface hunters did not dare come into this unknown
land of the Indian.”
“Yet I find here a young girl, and one who it seems can take care of
herself,” and Red Hand pointed to the dead and wounded Sioux that had
fallen by the girl’s rifle.
“But I should not now be alive had it not been for your true aim, sir;
and from my heart I thank you.”
The girl grasped the hand of the scout, to let it fall next instant
with a half cry of terror, as her eyes fell upon the red stain. At her
sudden action, Red Hand’s face flushed and then turned deadly pale; but
controlling any emotion he might feel, he replied:
“I am glad my footsteps led me here to serve you; but can I ask if you
live in these hills?”
“My home is far away from here, sir. Are you alone?”
The girl asked the last question almost in a whisper.
“No one is near us now; but I have comrades camped down the gorge.”
The face of the girl took on a startled expression, and she seemed
hesitating in her own mind as to the best course to pursue. In silence
Red Hand gazed upon her. At length she spoke, and her voice was firm:
“I am thankful to you for my life, sir, and there is one other that
will bless you for it; but it couldn’t be that you should meet--no, no,
I must leave----”
“Hold, I beg you! You live here in this wild wilderness, you a mere
child, and yet one whose language and address are not of the border,
and you would leave me without one word of explanation?” said Red Hand,
with surprise.
“Yes, sir; though I wish I could invite you to seek the shelter of my
home after what you have done for me. But I cannot, for there is one
other whom I must consult. One day, perhaps, we may meet again; now,
we must part, and I beg you, as a true man, not to strike my trail and
follow me.”
“You increase my interest in you,” said Red Hand. “But it shall be as
you wish. Are there any white men in this country?”
“Yes, sir; now and then a white hunter has wandered in here, and down
the gorge a mile is the grave of one who lost his life here several
years ago.”
Red Hand started, and glanced searchingly into the girl’s face. A
strange expression flitted across his own, as he asked:
“How long have you known of that grave in the valley?”
“I first saw it three years ago. I was hunting in the valley, wounded a
deer, and he fell near the tree. Did you ever see the grave?”
“Yes, I passed it half an hour ago: you will not let me see your home,
then?”
“No; your life might be the forfeit, and I would not have harm come to
you. Good-by.”
Without another word the girl threw her rifle across her arm, gave a
quick, earnest glance into the face of Red Hand, and walked rapidly
up the gulch to soon disappear behind a large bowlder, while Red Hand
silently and in wonder gazed after her retreating form.