With breathless suspense, all had listened to the story of Red Hand, and yet none were prepared for the sudden and startling assertion he made regarding the parentage of the outlaw chief. As for Kansas King, he stood amazed and silent--for a moment--and then said bitterly: “Red Hand, I feel that you speak the truth; tell me, old man, am I your son?” “Is your right name Leo Randolph?” faintly asked the hermit. “So men call me; but if my parentage was dishonorable I hold no claim to any name.” “You are, then, my son.” “Good God! Well, if I am hung by Captain Archer here, my fate will be the proper thing, I suppose, and yet I prefer hanging to acknowledging you as my father.” The outlaw spoke with terrible bitterness. Then Red Hand continued, in the same deep tones: “At length, I tracked this man to his home, and I believed I killed him, for I drove my knife deep into his side. It was the first time my hand was stained with blood, though from my birth I have borne this mark which has given me my name upon the frontier.” Red Hand held up his hand so that the moonlight revealed its crimson hue. Again he went on: “But I was only half avenged, for Ben Talbot still lived. What destiny ever led my footsteps into these hills, God only knows; but here, five years ago, I met Ben Talbot--and killed him.” “Tell me, Vincent Vernon, tell me--is the grave in the Haunted Valley that of my son?” said the old hermit eagerly. “It is; I killed him, and, for the sake of the happy days we had passed together in boyhood, I buried him, and carved his name upon a tree at the head of his grave.” “I knew of the grave, but never saw it--never knew that my son lay buried there, for I thought he had gone East,” muttered the old hermit. “Tell me, Carter Bainbridge,” continued Red Hand, “did Ben Talbot come here with you?” “Yes; I fled here in fear of my life, for I have been a great sinner, and Ben and Grace came with me; but we had a quarrel, and they left, as I believed, to go East and----” “And they settled in the Haunted Valley, and there they lived, until I killed Ben Talbot. Then poor Grace still remained, alone, to watch his grave, until last night she fell by her own hand, as this scout knows. Aye, fell by her own hand, and we two buried her there in the valley. “Then I sought the cabin where they lived, and the papers I found there told me all; yes, that Ben Talbot had slain the father of my wife, and then placed the crime at my door to have me hung, and that, believing the story told her, Grace had fled, a guilty thing, from my love. But I have forgiven her all. Aye, more did I learn, and that is that this girl here, who has heard every word of my story, is my own daughter. Pearl, will you come to your father’s heart?”