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.