“My father had been in a distant wing of the house, had arisen at the noise of the struggle, had gone to the aid of his friend, to come face to face with you as you fled. You were dressed just as he was, you had killed your man, robbed him, and were flying. Stunned by the recognition, my father had been incapable of action, and, tottering to a seat, had remained there until arrested as the murderer. “Determined not to hang for your crime, and feeling that there was no hope for him, he sprang upon the constable who guarded him, choked him into unconsciousness, secured the keys of his manacles, freed himself, and fled. He wrote my mother that he was not guilty of the crime, but circumstantial evidence was against him, his insane flight added seeming proof, and she unfortunately believed that he had committed the deed, and wrote to him. “Thus a wide gulf was between them, and he became a homeless wanderer and fugitive. He went to dwell among the Indians, and, having been educated as a physician, he became a medicine man in the tribe, checked a smallpox epidemic in their midst, and became a great chief, honored and loved by them. Discovering gold in his wanderings, he hid it away and at last decided to make good use of it. So he left the Indian village, carrying his gold on pack horses, and, going to a settlement, shipped it home to my mother. “It was a fortune for us, and she gladly received it, for her income was not large, and long before she had repented of her belief in my father’s guilt, and tried in vain to find him. “One day, just one year ago, my mother received a letter from the judge of the court in the city where the murder was committed which had wrecked my father’s life. It told of the confession of a prisoner, who had died in prison, that my father was innocent of the crime, that it was his brother who had been the murderer--he, the prisoner, being his ally--and that he saw the recognition of his brother by my father, and the shock it gave him. “But the murderer had committed other crimes, forcing him to become a fugitive, and so he could not be found, nor could my father, who afterward, I learned, had entered the army on the border. My mother was dying then, and I had to cling to her. She died, and soon after I had my lawyer find out if Sergeant Louis Fallon was my father, and he did so. “Then I wrote him that I would come to him. You know the rest, and I know that you have wronged my father beyond all forgiveness. Yes, you are his crime-stained brother, Loyd Lamar.” CHAPTER IX. BUFFALO BILL’S BOLD VENTURE. The council of war which Lieutenant Walter Worth had said he would hold that night in the camp near the secret crossing of the river, where it was found that the outlaw had escaped across into the Indian country, continued until late at night, the young officer, Surgeon Denmead, the sergeant, and Buffalo Bill being the four present.