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.