To return to the fort for aid he knew would take too long, so he determined to make an attempt to capture the herd himself, and, with his field-glass carefully reconnoitered the surroundings as long as it was light.

He saw that the nature of the valley was such that the herd could only escape by two ways, one through the Indian village and the other at the lower end, where he had observed four warriors placed as a guard and herders.

“That is my quartette,” he said to himself, and mounting Brigham he began to make his way around to the lower end of the valley.

After an hour’s ride he gained the desired point, and then set down to work.

Carrying with him in case of need a complete Indian costume, he was not long in rigging himself up in it and painting his face.

Then he left Brigham in a canyon near by and cautiously approached the entrance to the valley, which was not more than two hundred yards wide at this point.

Peering through the darkness he saw the four dark objects, about equal distances apart, which he knew were the ponies of the four warriors on guard, and that they were lying down near in the grass he felt confident.

Getting past the line of herders he boldly advanced toward the one nearest the hill on the left, and knew he would be taken for some chief coming from the village and accordingly not dreaded.

It was just as he had expected:  the Indian herder saw him coming directly from the village, as he believed and did not even rise from the grass as Buffalo Bill drew near.

With a word in Sioux Buffalo Bill advanced and suddenly threw himself upon the prostrate warrior.

There was a short struggle, but no cry, as the scout’s hand grasped the red-skin’s throat, and then all was still, the Indian pony lariated near, not even stopping his grazing.

Throwing the red-skin’s blanket over his body, Buffalo Bill moved away a few paces to where the pony stood, and called to the next herder in the Sioux tongue to come to him.

The unsuspecting warrior obeyed, and the next instant found himself in a gripe of iron and a knife blade piercing his heart.

“This is red work, but it is man to man and in a few days the whole band would make a strike upon the settlements,” muttered the scout, as he moved slowly toward the position his enemy had left at his call.

As he reached the spot he saw the third warrior standing on his post and boldly walked up to him, when again the same short, fierce, silent fight followed and Buffalo Bill arose from the ground a victor.

The fourth, and only remaining guard he knew was over under the shadow of the hill, and thither he went.

Arriving near he did not see him, and looking around suddenly discovered him asleep at the foot of a tree.

“I’d like to let you sleep, Mr. Red-skin, but you’d wake up at the wrong time, so you must follow your comrades to the happy hunting-grounds,” he muttered, as he bent over and seized the throat of the Indian in his powerful gripe.