“This is news, Red Bud, and I thank you for it. Now I must be off after yonder running hound. Come!” Away darted Midnight, and close behind followed the steed of Red Bud. But gradually the trained and swift horse began to draw away from his less fleet companion, and once more, with tremendous strides, he was drawing nearer the magnificent animal ridden by Howard Lawrence. Thus an hour passed, and Midnight was not a hundred feet behind the fugitive, while two miles distant upon the prairie came Red Bud, urging her white mare forward at the top of her speed. With his repeating rifle Buffalo Bill could have brought down both horse and rider, but he cared not to do either, as that would have ended the affair too soon. A few more tremendous bounds, and Howard Lawrence saw his pursuer almost upon him. Drawing his pistol, he opened a rapid but harmless fire. Instantly Buffalo Bill seized his lasso, which hung at his saddle bow, and which he could throw with wondrous skill. It made a sweep around his head. With a cry of horror, Howard Lawrence saw it coming and endeavored to dodge the fatal noose. Too late! Like a lightning flash it settled around him, and lie was jerked violently from his saddle. Instantly Buffalo Bill dismounted, and, loosening the lariat from around his enemy’s waist, bade him arise. “What means this, sir?” sternly asked Howard Lawrence as he slowly arose to his feet. “It means, sir, that I have pursued you, and now have captured you.” “And why, may I ask?” “Because of the wrong you have done that poor Indian girl. Once, when I was sick in her father’s village, she nursed me back to health, and for that, though she is an Indian, I regard her almost as if she were my own sister. You have ruined her life, you base scoundrel and villain!” “Is that all?” the young man asked, with a sneer. “I know, also, that you are the son of the bandit chief, Ricardo, who is now dead.” A flush stole over the pale face of Howard Lawrence, and he was silent. “Whether you know that Ricardo, the chief of the Branded Brotherhood, was your father,” said the scout, “or whether you are ignorant of it, I am not assured, but such is the case, and you are a fit son for such a father, for under numerous disguises you have led a most villainous life. “You have brought ruin and death upon more than one household, and were plotting the ruin of Rose Carter, and also Sibyl Conrad, after having won the affection of yonder beautiful Indian girl, only in the end to tire of her, after she had given up all for you, and cruelly desert her to her fate.” The scout turned and pointed toward Red Bud, who at that moment rode up, and in silence gazed upon the two. “You have, then, become the champion of all the redskin and paleface girls on the border?” sneeringly replied Howard Lawrence.