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.