THE SPECTER OF THE VALLEY.
Buffalo Bill was not the only man who had been in concealment near
the spot where Bad Burke met his death. Scarcely was he gone from the
place, when Red Hand rose into view. He stared after the retreating
form of the scout, and muttered:
“I shall go through that valley, too. If there is anything to be seen
there I want to see it.”
But he shuddered as he spoke, and his face seemed drawn with pain. So
it came about that Red Hand followed Buffalo Bill. But the scout had
moved so rapidly that not once did Red Hand come in sight of him. And
in a little while, so painful were the thoughts of the latter, that Red
Hand almost forgot that the scout was somewhere ahead of him.
Thus Red Hand set forth upon his trip, wending his way in the direction
of the Ramsey settlement, going toward the point which Pearl had urged
Buffalo Bill to avoid on account of the weird stories among the Indians
that a spirit haunted the valley.
As he walked along, the moon arose in brilliant beauty upon the wild
scenery, and shed a bright light upon lofty hill, rocky gorge, and
lovely vale.
The story of the spirit of the valley haunted Red Hand’s memory with
weird and bitter thoughts, for he remembered the grave made in the
valley and the apparition he had seen there after he had consigned the
body of Ben Talbot to its last resting place.
Often had Red Hand endeavored to convince himself that the sight was
but a phantom of his troubled brain; but, no; it came too vividly
before him in form, gesture, and song, and he felt that if he had not
seen a spirit from the shadowy land, he had certainly beheld a woman.
Yet--who could this woman be who had thus been with Ben Talbot, living
alone in the wild Black Hills?
He entered the narrow gorge, the inlet to the accursed valley, and
the silvery light of the moon caused every tree and bowlder to stand
forth in phantomlike shadow. But Red Hand was not of a superstitious
nature. Nerving himself for what was before him, he hurried forward at
a swifter pace.
Down the valley he hastened for half a mile. Then the shadowy hill
and large trees at its base, both of which were photographed upon his
mind, loomed up before him. Buffalo Bill had passed on before, and was
nowhere in sight. Already Red Hand had almost forgotten him.
“I’ll solve this mystery if I die in the attempt,” said Red Hand, and
he turned once more toward the tree.
Then he halted, for, standing at the head of the grave was a woman.
Nearer and nearer to the tree he drew, until the glimmer of the dark
eyes were almost visible. Then he stopped short, for a strangely sad
voice, striving to be firm, cried out:
“Hold! Let not the foot of any man desecrate this sacred spot!”
“Great God! Where have I heard that voice before?” was his thought.
“No, it is not, it cannot be--for she is dead; yes, dead by her own
hand.”
Red Hand trembled with the emotion that swept over him.
“Lady,” he said, his voice shaking, “I would not desecrate the resting
place of the dead, yet I would know why you so jealously guard the
grave of Ben Talbot!” Though he shook, he spoke in his deep, distinct
tones.
As he commenced speaking a sudden change was visible in the woman; her
form bent forward and her ear was turned as if to catch every word,
while her right forefinger was pressed against her lips.
Then in a voice that was nothing more than a hoarse whisper she said:
“I guard his grave because I loved him. Did you know Ben Talbot?”
“Aye, did I, lady! He wrecked my life!”
“Your life! Ha, ha, ha! I know you now, Vincent Vernon; I know you now
in spite of the years that have swept over your accursed soul,” almost
shrieked the woman, raising both hands wildly above her head.
“Good God! Grace, has the grave given you up or are you a phantom from
the shadow land?” cried Red Hand, starting toward the woman.
“Back, you red-handed murderer! Back, I say, back! And do not pollute
this sacred spot. No, I am not from the grave, and I lied to you when
I said I would take my life. Ha, ha, ha!--no, why do I laugh? It
is hollow mockery for me to laugh, and--but what do you here, thou
accursed? Ha! Now I know by whose hand poor Ben fell. Away! Away! No,
no, no, do not go, but stay until I tear from you your coward heart.”
In wild frenzy the woman rushed toward the man, a knife gleaming in
her uplifted hand, and her whole bearing that of one gone mad. Like a
statue stood Red Hand, his hands hanging listlessly by his sides, his
eyes bent with fixed stare upon the woman, and his whole manner that of
a man struck dumb by some startling discovery, some terrible shock that
had wholly unnerved him for the slightest motion.
On rushed the madwoman, and still he stood passive, seemingly
unconscious of his danger, or unmindful of her presence, for his head
was lowered upon his breast and his eyes downcast.
A few rapid bounds, a frenzied laugh, and the madwoman faced the man
she had accused. The arm was poised in the air, the gleaming blade
threatening instant death, the glaring eyes, wild with madness; yet Red
Hand did not move.
Then, with a weird cry of revengeful joy the knife began to descend,
swiftly, pointed at the heart of Red Hand.
Before the keen blade was sheathed in the broad breast there came a
bright flash from the dark hillside, a sharp report, and with a wild
shriek the woman dropped the knife. The shot awoke Red Hand from his
apathy. With a cry of alarm he sprang forward, crying: “Grace! Grace!
You are hurt.”
“Back, sir! Do not pollute me with your touch. Ha! Still I have hope of
revenge,” cried the woman.
She drew with her left hand from her belt a pistol and quickly fired it
in the face of Red Hand, who staggered back, bewildered by the flash,
but uninjured.
Believing that she had slain the man she seemed to hate the unhappy
woman almost shrieked:
“Now I die content. Ben, you are avenged, and so is----”
The remainder of the sentence was drowned in the report of her
revolver, which she had placed against her heart and fired. Too late
did Red Hand spring forward to attempt to check her act. He could only
catch her falling form in his strong arms and lower her gently to the
ground just as a rapid footstep was heard, and Buffalo Bill dashed up
with anxious manner, crying:
“Did she wound you, comrade?”
“No, but she has killed herself,” sadly said Red Hand.
“In God’s name, who is she, Red Hand?”
“One whom I knew long years ago--one whom I never harmed in thought,
word, or action, and yet who has turned against me,” sadly replied Red
Hand.
He was gazing with bitterness and sorrow into the pale, worn, yet still
beautiful face--a face that possessed an almost weirdlike loveliness,
and a form of wondrous grace and beauty.
The eyes were large, almond-shaped, and had been full of slumbering
fire; the mouth was small, yet stern, mayhap having become so in later
years, and the teeth were milky white, while a wealth of black hair
hung down her back and covered her shapely shoulders.
She was dressed in a coarse garment of pure white, and moccasins
incased her feet. A belt of buckskin, bead-worked, encircled her small
waist and supported the scabbard and holster of the weapons she had
endeavored to use against Red Hand.
Breathing heavily, she lay in his arms, and at his words she unclosed
her lustrous eyes and met his gaze.
“Grace, Grace, do you know me, or does the shadow of death lie between
you and me?” softly said Red Hand.
“Yes, Vincent Vernon, I know you, and the shadow of death does rest
between us,” faintly replied the woman.
She spoke with evident pain and difficulty, while her left hand was
held tight to her side, and through the fingers oozed a crimson tide,
hastening her life away.
Resting upon the grass, and staining its green with crimson, was the
right hand, which had been stunned, but not injured in the least, by
the bullet from Buffalo Bill’s rifle. The scout had shot at the handle
of her knife and had struck it fair.
Yet, though Buffalo Bill had not injured her, and had fired only to
save the life of Red Hand, as he stood there, brave man though he was,
his eyes dimmed with tears as he muttered:
“I could not help it--I could not help it, for it was to save your life
I fired, comrade.”
“Grace,” and Red Hand’s voice was strangely soft and kind. “Grace, why
did you leave me to a life of despair? Why did you wish to take my
life?”
“Vincent, yonder is the grave of Ben Talbot. Answer me--did your hand
place him there?”
“It did.”
Buffalo Bill started at the reply, and the woman groaned aloud.
“Again, answer me; did you take my father’s life?”
“Grace, in God’s name what do you mean?”
“Answer me! Did my father fall by your hand?”
“Never, as God is my judge!”
The eyes of the woman turned full upon the man, and she asked earnestly:
“Vincent, would you lie to a dying woman?”
“No, not one unkind word ever passed between your father and me.”
“Thank God! Vincent, now I understand all, and--I--believe--you.
Hold--me--up--thus! Yes, the shadow of death has blinded me, and the
cold chill of the grave is upon me; but I would ask you to forgive
me--me, a guilty thing that has so sinned against you. Quick!
Hold down your ear and catch my words, for--the papers--all--in
cabin--yonder--quick! Forgive me, and--kiss me, Vincent.”
“Red Hand murmured softly:
“Grace, I forgive.”
Then his stern lips touched those of the woman just as her eyes closed
and death laid his icy touch upon her pulse and stilled it forevermore.
“Come, comrade, old fellow, the night is creeping on, and we must not
linger here.”
It was Buffalo Bill who thus addressed Red Hand, who, an hour later,
was still bending over the frail form of the woman he had called Grace,
though two hours had passed since her spirit had winged its flight. Yet
Red Hand had not let go the small hand or ceased to gaze down upon the
marblelike, upturned face.
“Arouse yourself, comrade,” Buffalo Bill urged. “Come, I have dug a
grave yonder under the hillside, just on the mossy bank of the stream;
you can see it from here, and we must lay the poor girl away.”
Still Red Hand returned no answer. Again Buffalo Bill’s kindly tones
addressed him:
“Have you forgotten, comrade, that many lives are dependent upon you,
and that there is danger in the wind?”
The scout still trusted Red Hand, though there were many things he
could not yet understand.
“Buffalo Bill, dear old fellow, I remember now. Let us first bury poor
Grace--yes, bury her forever from sight; but I forgave her ere she
died, and she believed me when I said my hand was not stained with her
father’s blood. There is a stain upon it, Buffalo Bill, but not of his
life. Come, let us dig a grave,” and Red Hand arose to his feet.
“The grave is dug,” said the scout. “See, all is in readiness over
there.”
“Thank you, my friend, for I would not have her rest side by side with
Ben Talbot. Here is my blanket, and she shall have it for a shroud;
poor, poor Grace!”
Tenderly the graceful form was enveloped in the blanket of Red Hand,
who then raised it in his arms and bore it to the newly made grave
which Buffalo Bill had thoughtfully filled in with poles cut from a
thicket near by, which served as a rude coffin. Into her last resting
place the poor woman was lowered, and the blanket drawn over the
beautiful, sad face upon which Red Hand gazed with a stern, hard look
that proved how deeply he suffered.
A few moments more and the soil was thrown in most tenderly by the
scout, who seemed to feel to the very soul for the stricken man. Red
Hand stood with uncovered head and folded arms gazing down upon the
grave which held one that he had certainly loved most dearly in bygone
years, and who had so strangely crossed his path in the wilds of the
Black Hills--crossed his path to die by her own hand before his very
face.
“Buffalo Bill,” he said, when the grave had been filled in, “I have
much to thank you for; but we must not linger here. Some day I will
make known to you the story of my life, in all its cruelty and sorrow;
but not now--no, not now.”
“But, tell me, how was it I found you here?” Buffalo Bill asked.
With an effort Red Hand seemed to bury his grief and assume his former
manner.
“Things began to look squally, pard, and I started over to your layout
to look you up, when I ran across Lone Dick, the scout, and he told
me you had struck out in this direction. So I put after you over the
hills.”
In a few more words Red Hand acquainted Buffalo Bill with all the
discoveries he had made since coming to the Black Hills.
“That we are going to have a hard time, Red Hand, is evident. My advice
is for that other party to at once vacate their layout, and move bag
and baggage to our stronghold, which we can hold against every Indian
in these hills; yet to be on the safe side, I have a plan to save the
women, and that is to bring them here.”
“Here! How will that protect them?”
“This is the Haunted Valley of the Black Hills. And no Indian of the
Sioux tribe, or outlaw, either, will ever penetrate into these wilds.”
“We know now how it was haunted and why,” said Red Hand sadly.
“Yes, Red Hand, you and I know now, and we also know that this place
will be sacred from intrusion. Here we will bring the women and
children, and you and Lone Dick and Captain Ramsey and his son must be
their guard.”
“You mean for the party to leave the settlement to-night, then?”
“Yes, for the Indians will begin to move soon.”
Buffalo Bill continued:
“I will ride, as soon as possible, to the Ramsey camp; have the women
and their party pack up at once, mount and hasten to the head of the
valley, with all the necessary stores and traps for a long siege; then
tell the men to move off with all due haste for the miners’ camp, and,
mind you, Red Hand, they must be well on their way by daylight, for we
have no time to lose. I am off at once, Red Hand, but really I do not
like to leave you alone in this valley,” said Buffalo Bill reluctantly.
“It matters not, the dead can do no harm, and the living I have little
fear of here.”
“It is now about two hours to midnight. Before day I will be at the
head of the valley.”
So saying, Buffalo Bill mounted, and the rattle of his horse’s hoofs
echoed dismally through the hills as he rode rapidly on his way,
leaving Red Hand alone in the Haunted Valley--alone with the dead.