After a moment of limp inaction, however, he began to struggle. Being a powerfully built man, it was necessary for the scout to get the whip-hand of him quickly. Pulling his right hand from the fellow’s throat, Buffalo Bill dealt him a heavy blow between the eyes--a blow calculated to do little damage other than to stun and thus afford leeway for making him secure. The blow was successful in this, for the man ceased his struggles on the instant, and straightened out with a stifled gasp. Working rapidly, the scout pulled a couple of revolvers from the scoundrel’s belt, then unbuckled the belt and bound it about his ankles. With a cotton handkerchief taken from his throat he gagged him, and with his own handkerchief, twisted into a rope, he bound his hands at his back. All this was accomplished by the resourceful scout in hardly more time than it takes to tell of it. Scarcely was the work done, when a hail came from the island. “What ye doin’, Giles?” called a voice. “Restin’,” answered the scout, disguising his voice. “What’s the matter? Got a frog in yer throat?” “Tired an’ winded, thet’s all,” replied the scout. “Waal, hustle up with that plunder. Git it all over here an’ pile it up on the shore. We’ll take it behind the breastworks ter-morrer, when we kin have daylight fer it. Don’t fergit ter pull in ther bridge, an’ roll it up tight when ye do it. Look sharp, now! Them’s the on’y supplies we got, an’ if ye should drop a box inter the sands we’d miss ’em mightily. Bring a water-keg first. Our canteens are purty nigh empty.” The scout heard the speaker moving away, and saw his dark form vanish among the boulders. The move the scout had planned was a reckless one. Yet, nevertheless, he proceeded to carry it out with all his usual determination. Picking up one of the kegs, he stepped out on the causeway. The wooden slabs gave slightly under his feet, but, by moving swiftly, he did not sink more than an inch on any one of them. Swiftly he crossed to the other end of the peculiar bridge and stepped off upon the rocky shore with his keg. There he set the keg down and deftly removed the plug from the bung-hole, allowing the water slowly to trickle out. He did not start back across the causeway again. That had not been his intention. Now that he was on the island, he would take a look around. The little area of rocks, he discovered, was even smaller than he had calculated it to be from the opposite shore. Fifty steps, he believed, would have measured its diameter. It was slightly conical in shape, and seemed to be the peak of a hill pushed up through the shifting sands. On the top was the heap of boulders referred to by the man, who had called from the island’s shore, as the “breastworks.”