So slowly that he seemed scarcely to move, and so quietly that he made no more noise than the falling of a leaf, the scout drew inch by inch nearer to the man he had marked for his prey.
And the sentinel, wrapped in a sense of security, thought danger so far away and his position such a sinecure that he began to roll a cigarette.
Buffalo Bill was but fifteen feet away when the sentinel struck a match.
In doing this, the sentinel turned to the wall behind him, and, as he puffed at the cigarette, he held one hand up to keep the match from being blown out.
At that moment Buffalo Bill rose silently to his feet. The lariat was given one quick swing, and the noose shot for the stooped head of the sentinel.
The match went out, as if it had been struck from his hand, as the noose fell over his head and was pulled tight by a quick jerk.
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.