Then the sentinel was thrown from his feet, and the cry that arose to his lips was stifled. He fell gurgling and scrambling, and the next moment Buffalo Bill was bending over him. Some stout cords were in the scout’s hand. One of these he twisted into the man’s mouth as a gag, where he tightened it; then he slipped other cords over the man’s waving arms and swaying legs. It was all over in less than half a minute, and the sentinel was a helpless prisoner. “I could have killed you just as easily,” the scout whispered into the ear of the terrified man, “but I do not raise my hand against the life of any man without cause, or when I can avoid it. Now, I’ll see that you are put where you can do me no harm.” Having tied him securely, Buffalo Bill lifted the helpless man in his strong arms and carried him down the slope. Here, finding a side passage--a small cañon, as it seemed--he bore the man into it for some distance. “I’ll see that you are not left here to die of starvation, old fellow,” he promised, as he prepared to leave the man there. “I owe you something, you know! You were doing your work so poorly that really I had no trouble at all in crawling up on you.” Going back to the point where the sentinel had stood, the scout took possession of the man’s weapons, which he concealed. “Now, to see what is on before me!” Then a thought came to him, which took him back to the prisoner. “See here,” he said, “I want some information, and you’re just the chap to give it to me.” He pressed his revolver against the man’s head. The touch of the cold steel made the rascal tremble. “I’m going to take the gag out of your mouth, so that you can talk to me,” the scout informed him. “But I want to tell you that if you call to your friends or make any disturbance whatever, I shall shoot you as if you were a wolf. Do you understand that?” The way the man trembled showed that he understood well enough. He was still trembling when Buffalo Bill removed the gag. Again the scout pressed the revolver muzzle to the temple of the terrified sentinel. “Don’t!” the man whined. “Do you know who I am?” “You must be ther devil, I guess!” “Call me that, then. It makes no difference to you who I am. I have you in my power, and I shall shoot you if you try to call any of your pals. Now, answer my questions!” “Put down that gun!” the fellow begged. “It might go off--yer finger might slip on the trigger, er----” Buffalo Bill did not put down the gun. “You’re a member of the Branded Brotherhood?” “Yes.” “And Ricardo is your captain?” The fellow shivered again. “Yes,” he answered reluctantly; “but I’ll be killed fer tellin’.” “You’ll be killed, if you don’t tell. Now, where is your camp? No lying; for if you deceive me in anything, I shall come back here and shoot you for it.” “Camp’s back in ther hills,” answered the subdued ruffian. “Just where?” “’Bout a half a mile back.” “The way to get there?”