This man was Smallpox Dave. The villain had his knife out, and was warily picking his way along, not knowing what foe he might meet, and trying to be prepared for any encounter. He was aware that the man whom he had tackled was none other than the noted scout, Buffalo Bill. His face was bleeding, his throat ached from the clutching grip of the scout’s iron fingers, and his head roared in a dizzy way. He was proceeding in the direction in which he had left his own horse and that of Barlow, and he was hoping there to meet Barlow and learn from him what was now to be done. At the same time he was watching, not wishing to run afoul of Buffalo Bill. Yet that was the very thing he did. A hand reached forward and upward out of the darkness, his leg was caught, he was thrown with blinding and stunning quickness, and then the redoubtable scout was on top of him, holding a knife at his throat. “Make a sound and you die!” was whispered in his ear, while the blade of the knife was pressed down against his throat in a way to make him lay as quiet as if dead. “Let up!” he begged, in a hoarse whisper. A cord was thrown round one wrist, and leg irons were snapped on his ankles, and they held him now helpless. “Hold out your hands,” was the low command. “See here, I don’t know ye, but I ain’t done nothin’!” Smallpox Dave whined, thoroughly alarmed now. Buffalo Bill tied him. “You’re the man I had a fight with by the wall a few minutes ago,” he said. “Tell me who the other man was who came over the wall, and who the girl was?” “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about!” Smallpox Dave whined. “Oh, yes, you do; and you’ll out with it, or I’ll use this knife on you! I’m looking for that other man, and if you talk quick and talk straight it will be all the better for you. I want to know who that man was, and what has become of him?” “Boss, I’d tell you if I knowed; I don’t know!” Bound though Smallpox Dave was, the scout gripped him again by the throat. “You scoundrel, speak out the truth, and speak it quick!” he cried. Smallpox Dave gasped and gurgled. “Don’t--don’t!” he begged. “I’ll tell what I know.” The fingers of the scout relaxed. “Speak quick,” he commanded. “Who was that man?” Smallpox Dave shivered--he did not want to tell, but again the scout set his fingers to the throat of the miscreant. “Yes, I’ll tell,” the strangling and frightened wretch now wheezed. “Who was that man?” Buffalo Bill demanded. “Lieutenant Barlow.” “And the girl?” “The one that lived in the sod house out on the prairie--Arlington’s girl.” The scout released him. “Lie there, and if you make any sound, when I come back it will be the worse for you.” Buffalo Bill leaped away, going once more in the direction which Barlow seemed to have taken the girl. CHAPTER XXV. A VILLAIN IN FLIGHT. Lieutenant Joel Barlow was clever in his flight.