Red Hand spoke in a reckless, determined tone, peculiar to him when much moved. The stranger turned his gaze upon the man he had attacked, and something he saw there seemed to trouble him deeply, for he passed his hand across his face, muttering, as if communing with the past. “Yes, it is his face--no, it cannot be--ha, the red hand!” He staggered back a step or two, while the girl sprang to his side, crying: “Father, are you ill?” “No, child, I felt faint for a moment, when I thought how near I came to slaying one who had saved your life. Partner, do you journey often into these hills?” Red Hand saw that the old man had given an evasive reply, but replied quietly: “This is my second coming into the Black Hills. I thought this country far beyond the line where white men lived, yet I find you a dweller here.” “Comrade, I have sickened of life among my fellow men, and came here to shun mankind. Take the warning of one who does not warn in vain, and this very night turn your back upon these hills, for only dangers can surround you here.” “Comrade, I love dangers,” was the answer, with a reckless laugh, “and if you can live here I can also. I bid you a pleasant good night.” So saying, Red Hand wheeled on his heel, touched his hat politely to the girl, and strode away, to soon disappear around a bend in the gulch. More and more mystified, Red Hand walked rapidly away in the direction of his camp, and arrived after nightfall. Then he was given another surprise. An old trapper had come in, and was telling to Buffalo Bill his story of how he had been hunting on the streams, and had struck the trail of a party coming to the hills. Feeling assured that there was something up beyond his comprehension, the trapper said he had determined to strike the trail and follow it up, to see what could carry a party into this wild region. The second night after starting upon the trail he camped in a piece of timber bordering the bank of a small stream, and was soon fast asleep, to be awakened an hour after by the arrival of a train of emigrants, who were also moving for the Black Hills. From his retreat he observed that the train consisted of some thirty pack mules, instead of wagons, and about twenty men, all splendidly armed, while there were as many women and children accompanying them. Not wishing to make himself known, for he believed from all he saw that the expedition was a secret one, the old trapper lay quiet all night. At early dawn he saw the party continue on their journey directly toward the Black Hills, and following the trail of the party that had gone before. “Did you see the party again after that night, Lone Dick?” asked Buffalo Bill of the old hunter, whom he had met in the settlements now and then and knew as a brave man who always tramped alone, and never meddled with the affairs of other people.