ed-hand? Ah! I remember. There is a noted chief of the name, famed
for his hostility to the trappers--famed for a ferocity unequalled among
his race--a savage, who is said to delight in torturing his captives--
especially if it be a pale-face who has had the misfortune to fall into
his hands. Can it be that fiend--the Red-Hand of the Arapahoes?

The appearance of the man confirms my suspicion. A body, tall, angular,
and ill-shaped, scarred with cicatrised wounds, and bent with age; a
face seamed with the traces of evil passion; eyes deep sunken in their
sockets, and sparkling like coals of fire--an aspect more fiend-like
than human! All this agrees with the descriptions I have had of the
Red-Hand chief. Assuredly it is he. Our enemies, then, are the
Arapahoes--their leader the dreaded _Red-Hand_.

"Heaven have mercy upon us! These men will have none!" Such was the
ejaculation that escaped my lips, on recognising, or believing that I
recognised, the foe that was before us.

The Red-Hand is seen to direct. He is evidently leader of the band.
All seem obedient to his orders; all move with military promptness at
his word or nod. Beyond doubt, it is the Red-Hand and his followers,
who for crimes and cold-blooded atrocities are noted as he. A dreaded
band, long known to the traders of Santa Fe--to the _ciboleros_ from the
Taos Valley--to the trappers of the Arkansas and Platte. We are not the
first party of white men besieged by these barbarous robbers; and if it
be our fate to fall, we shall not be their first victims. Many a brave
"mountain-man" has already fallen a victim to their fiendish grasp.
Scarcely a trapper who cannot tell of some comrade, who has been
"rubbed" out by Red-Hand and his "Rapahoes."

The council of the chiefs continues for some time. Some _ruse_ is being
devised and debated among them. With palpitating hearts we await the
issue. I have made known my suspicions as to who is our enemy, and
cautioned my comrade's to be on their guard. I have told them that, if
my conjecture prove true, we need look for no mercy. The talk is at an
end. Red-Hand is about to address us. Riding two lengths in front of
his followers, the savage chief makes halt. His shield is held
conspicuously upward--its convexity towards us--not for any purpose of
security; but evidently that we may see its device, and know the bearer.
Red-Hand is conscious of the terror inspired by his name. In his other
hand, h