“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?”
Words cannot portray the tenderness with which Red Hand spoke, and, comprehending the whole plot of crime against him, and feeling that he was indeed her father, the girl sprang forward and nestled close in the arms of the man whose life had known so much of misery.
Not a word, not a motion, marred the silent joy of that moment for those two, father and daughter, so cruelly divided through life. Finally Red Hand turned once more to the old hermit, and said:
“Carter Bainbridge, I can now, in my joy, even forgive you.”
No word of reply came, the eyes gazed straight at the moon with a fixed stare, and the voice of Buffalo Bill said quietly: