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.